


Fushigi Yuugi -- Aienkien

by Llanyia



Category: Fushigi Yuugi
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, In Universe, Interweaves with Canon Plotline, M/M, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 138,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llanyia/pseuds/Llanyia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bound by fate and sacred duty, two warriors find each other. One, a brash teenage bandit swept up by destiny. The other, an emotionally scarred monk trying to keep their mission alive. Set against a backdrop of war, this is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Smell of Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fanfic is based on characters and events from Fushigi Yuugi copyright ©Yuu Watase, Shogakukan, Inc., TV Tokyo, et al. 1995. I have no wish to make profit of any kind off of this piece; it is for reading enjoyment only. This piece contains many spoilers for those who have not watched the anime or read the manga, so proceed with caution.
> 
> My intention in writing this fanfiction was multi-fold. I wanted to get this story down on paper after it had been percolating in my brain in one way or another for nearly a decade. I wanted to do the Tasuki/Chichiri fandom a solid by using canon events, characters, and situations plus some creative license to offer a plausible relationship scenario instead of setting it in an AU. I wanted to make all the characters (the secondary characters in particular) in Fushigi Yuugi more human, with human motivations, problems, and issues instead of leaving them as two-dimensional caricatures. I wanted to challenge myself to do a large fanfiction project with multiple parts and an overall plot instead of just continuing with the vignettes I've done in the past. And I wanted to take some of the loose ends and underdeveloped parts of Fushigi Yuugi, a work I count as an all-time favorite, and flesh them out in a plausible, logical, rational way that wouldn't detract from the original work.
> 
> The entirety of this story runs concurrent to the time period in which the anime runs, either recounting events or referencing events that have happened, are happening, or will happen in context of the chapter said event is in. The story follows the plot of the anime, not the manga, though I have added in a few manga ideas that weren't kept in the anime. In some places, I have chosen to skip over some scenes that were already covered in the anime rather than rehash them. In other places, I have chosen to rehash at least parts of an episode if not the entire thing. Where I have rehashed what's happened in the anime, I've tried to use as much of the original English-language dialogue as I could, though I have taken license with some of it. A good bit of the SD stuff from the anime has been eliminated or toned down since I wanted a more serious tone to this fanfiction. I've also tried to depict the world of Fushigi Yuugi as more Chinese than was shown in the series originally, so I've added or changed things to this end. Of course, FY being a Japanese work, I've kept the Japanese names for the characters and the Japanese terms for some things (like Chichiri's cloak and staff).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shichiseishi are finally gathered, but nothing is as simple as it seems.

Tasuki took a sullen, sidelong look at the black-haired warrior atop the white gelding to his right. The man had been blithely riding that damned horse for miles, the clip-clop, clip-clop of its hooves irritating him to no end. It just didn't seem fair. Why should Hotohori alone have the privilege of riding while the rest of their group had to travel the long, grueling li to the capital on foot? Even the priestess had been forced to walk and the rough, rocky roads linking the northern Kounan city of Choukou to the microscopic eastern village of Hakukou seemed little more than paths in some places.

Tasuki huffed and returned his gaze to the dusty road ahead. The heat-distorted shimmer of the city gates finally emerged from behind the low rise the group had been ascending for the last hour. It wouldn't be long now. At least the weather seemed to be cooperating. After the spring rains had finally passed into the heat of midsummer, all Tasuki wanted was clear skies and some sunshine before the thunderstorms of late summer began. He didn't mind the rain much–the clean scent of sodden earth reminded him of home on Mount Reikaku–but the days of incessant cloud cover drove him to distraction.  _Mount Reikaku..._ He sighed. Despite the promise of adventure and a change of scenery joining Miaka and the Shichiseishi held, deep down, he still hoped that his duty to Kounan and Suzaku would end quickly and that he could return to the mountain before the change of another season.

The group passed through the vast bronze-sheathed gates of the city and made their way slowly into the hustle and bustle of the market district. Tasuki watched a small group of laughing children dart away from a fruit stall to his left. The sharp, citrussy notes of freshly cut pomelo met his nose as they passed near him, sticky juice dripping from their mouths and hands as they ran. In another stall, a hunched, gray-haired man hawked earthy-smelling bunches of medicinal herbs, rich, black soil still clinging to their roots. Noble ladies in delicately embroidered gowns loitered under painted oil-paper umbrellas in front of a tailor's booth farther down the row. Their handmaids rifled through the racks of bright silk fabrics, presenting promising finds to their mistresses. Above the women's heads, pre-made robes dotted with minute glass beads hung from the stall's rafters, sparkling in the afternoon sun. Next to the garment seller, raucous and colorful birds flapped and fluttered in bronze cages.

A shift in the light breeze brought an assault of aromas to Tasuki's nose and made his mouth water. Food stalls popped up between the merchandise vendors more frequently as the group continued toward the palace. Smelling garlic and soy sauce, Tasuki glanced at a stall to his right. A sweaty man wearing a bandana and an apron stirred noodles for ganshao niuhe in a massive wok with a wooden paddle. At the counter, another man struggled to keep up with the crowd of people clamoring for a serving. Farther down the market row, smoky, toasted sesame oil filled the air as a woman in a tight bun whisked more noodles in the wok at her stall. She dumped a mass of noodles into a lacquered bowl before a young girl in a too-big apron took it from her. Another nearly identical girl at the counter ladled piping hot, brine-scented fish broth and shrimp dumplings into the bowls before handing the yuntun mian off to eager customers. Tasuki's stomach roared in protest and a disappointed frown graced his lips as they trouped past without stopping.

Passing out of the market, the band of warriors began their ascent of the long causeway leading to the palace. Situated on a low hill at the southernmost end of the metropolis, the complex was ringed by a thick, brickwork wall broken only by a pair of colossal bronze gates. Behind the wall, the pagoda of what Tasuki guessed was the main palace rose high above the rest of the capital. Its vermilion clay-tiled roofs shone in the late afternoon sunshine. They had finally made it to the jewel of the Kounan Empire, Eiyou, seat of the emperor and his court and, most of all, the end of their quest to gather the seven Stars of Suzaku.

Tasuki stifled a weary yawn behind his hand as they passed under the grand lacquered-wood archway and its phoenix-motif lintel.  _Wow, whatta place,_ he thought, his golden eyes never stopping long as he looked around. Courtiers and groundskeepers roamed the vast square just inside the gates. Ancient cobbles, worn smooth by centuries of use, paved the tree-lined courtyard. In the southeast of the square, a fountain gurgled in a round stone pond dotted with water lilies.  _I can't believe th' guards let us in 'ere, even if we are part o' th' Suzaku_ _Seven._

The slap of soft-soled shoes running across brick tiles broke his reverie, but as he turned toward the sound, he saw only a flash of yellowish light and an odd cloud of dense smoke emanating from a nearby hallway.  _I swear I just heard somebody,_  Tasuki thought. He glanced around the plaza. No one else seemed to notice the phantom footsteps or the cloud. Frowning, he turned back to the hallway. "Welcome back, no da!" a high-pitched voice chirped.

"What is thaaat?!" Tasuki yelped with a start, pointing unceremoniously at the thin, pale-skinned man who appeared from the clearing smoke. Cerulean-haired, fox-eyed, and with an expression of perpetual mirth, the man laughed and smiled with Miaka as if they knew each other.

"That's Chichiri, one of the Suzaku Seven. Like us," Nuriko said, smacking Tasuki upside the head with a roll of his eyes.

"Ow, fuck," Tasuki growled and rubbed the tender spot, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes. He returned his gaze to the strange seishi just a few paces away. His simple linen garb and deep navy kesa marked him as a monk, but his behavior just didn't match up with the image. Tasuki thought back to the monk he'd met while traveling months before, who had given him the omamori he'd used to regain leadership of the bandit gang. That man had had a certain air of dignity and age to him. This monk certainly did not.  _How c'n this guy be a monk? 'E can't be any older 'an me._  Behind Tasuki, Chiriko spoke up.

"Magnificent! I can't believe we got into the palace." The boy turned this way and that in unabashed awe.

"Hotohori's missing," Mitsukake said, casting his gaze around the sunlit courtyard. "He's gotten lost already." His words drew a ripple of surprise from the group of warriors. None of them had noticed the man take his leave.

Tasuki glanced around himself. He was only mildly curious as to where Hotohori had gotten to. He had long since decided that he just didn't have that much in common with the taller seishi. Hotohori seemed content to keep up a friendly rapport with the rest of the group, but it was obvious he was hopelessly enthralled with Miaka. "Oh yeah, yer right. Where'd 'e run off to now?" Tasuki threw out. He was certain Hotohori would turn up at some point. After a moment, he sank back into thinking.  _Chichiri, huh?_

Glancing back over at Miaka, he felt the pit of his stomach lurch. Just over the girl's shoulder, his eyes locked with Chichiri's. A warm smile spread across the monk's features and Tasuki realized he had been looking straight at him.  _Was 'e just... How long's 'e been starin' at me?_ He simpered and gave Chichiri a curt nod, looking away as fast as he could.  _What th' hell's wrong with me? I'm actin' like a moron,_ Tasuki scolded the long journey had taken more of a toll on his body and mind than he thought. He had just left his home on Mount Reikaku and given up his place as leader to Kouji after all. And, in becoming part of the Suzaku Shichiseishi, Tasuki had seen more of Kounan in a week's time than he had in all his seventeen years.  _Yeah, that's it. All this travelin' around an' becomin' a Suzaku Warrior must be scramblin' my brains,_ he thought. Nuriko's voice sounded to his right, giving him a much-needed chance to regain his composure.

Nuriko snorted in amazement. "You guys  **still**  haven't figured out who he is? He's none other than the actual–"

"That's alright, Nuriko." A deeper, more commanding voice overpowered the conversation, silencing them all in only three words. The order came from the hallway from which Chichiri had appeared. A tall, dark-haired man in imperial regalia stood atop the lavish staircase, looking down upon the group with tawny brown eyes. They were the same as those of the missing Hotohori.

Silence reigned over the warriors. Shock and awe were engraved upon each of their faces as it slowly occurred to them that the man before them just might be… "Your Highness. I'm so glad you're back safely, no da." Chichiri turned his gaze to his emperor, greeting him happily in that high-pitched, silly tone Tasuki heard just moments ago. The monk seemed to be the only one unaffected by Hotohori's sudden appearance and revelation.

Then, the information hit him. "He's th' emperor?!" Tasuki barked. Shame sizzled across his cheeks as he thought of his behavior at Mount Reikaku.  _Ah shit_ _, I'm gonna get it now._   _Me an' my big mouth_ … A hint of sandalwood invaded his senses a scant moment before a gentle hand descended to his shoulder. Tasuki's head whipped around. His face flushed as he looked Chichiri right in the eyes again, this time within an arm's length of his own. His heart thumped hard against his ribs and his voice retreated to the safety of his throat.

"It's alright, no da," Chichiri said. "He's not all that bad once you get to know him, na no da." There was something about this particular warrior that was different from the other seishi, something subtle that Chichiri couldn't quite describe. He held Tasuki's gaze, the hand he'd laid on his shoulder long forgotten.

Turning his attention back to the group as a whole, Hotohori addressed them once more. "All of you are welcome here; please consider this palace your home for the foreseeable future. You shall have rooms set aside for your own private use. Nuriko, please show everyone to their chambers."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"A formal dinner will be held in the banquet hall in two hours' time to celebrate the finding of the last three warriors of the Suzaku Seven. Until then, feel free to explore the palace." His exit flanked by two of his advisors, Hotohori retreated into the corridor from which he had come, vermilion robes flowing behind him on the elaborate brick floor.

Nuriko gave Hotohori a low bow before turning to the rest of the warriors. He clucked like a mother hen as they gathered their things. "Come on, you guys. Follow me, your rooms are this way." Nuriko gently maneuvered the shocked Mitsukake and Chiriko down the hallway. He chided them to pay more attention to what they were doing instead of ogling the beautiful young monarch. Trailed by a burbling Miaka, the group set out into the eastern side of the palace complex.

Chichiri removed his hand from Tasuki's shoulder and quietly moved to follow the rest.  _Chichiri..._ Tasuki turned the word over and over in his mind and tried to gather up his scattered wits.  _What th' fuck just happened 'ere?_  It wasn't weariness from the long journey and becoming a celestial warrior, he knew that much. From the moment he caught the enigmatic monk's eyes, his tongue had been tied and he'd acted like a fool. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. A spark of electricity dashed down his spine as he watched Chichiri go. Who was he? There was more to this guy, he just knew it, and he had to find out. Letting out a sigh, he sprinted off toward the rapidly disappearing group, straining to hear the last audible sounds of the conversation moving away from him into the palace grounds.

\- o - o - o -

"I can't believe we did it, Nuriko. We found all the celestial warriors! Now Tamahome can come back to us. And we can summon Suzaku and have our wishes granted, too." Miaka beamed, clapping her hands together.

Nuriko ruffled the girl's bound auburn hair. An affectionate smile graced his lips. "I knew you could do it, Miaka."

"Well, we can't summon Suzaku quite yet, no da."

Mitsukake turned to the heretofore silent monk, hand absently scratching the cat in his tunic behind the ears as they walked. "What do you mean, Chichiri?"

"Even if Tamahome were here now, we still don't have the scroll of  _The Universe of the Four Gods_  that Taiitsukun gave to Kounan, na no da." A set of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor. Glancing back, Chichiri found Tasuki jogging to catch up with them.

"So what if we don't 'ave that scroll thingy? We've got all o' us together now, don't we? That's somethin', ain't it?" Unaffected by the exertion, Tasuki fell into step next to him. He drew up to his full height, about half a hand's breadth taller than the monk. Chest thrust forward in a display of pride, he smirked in triumph at the slightly raised eyebrow gracing Chichiri's face.

"Tasuki," Miaka said, giving him a incredulous look.

"Um, Tasuki, don't forget that Tamahome is still in Kutou," Chiriko pointed out. Next to him, Mitsukake shook his head.

"Yeah, well... I knew that."

Rolling his eyes, Nuriko sighed. "You can be such a blockhead, Tasuki."

Sunlight glinted off the lacquered-wood balustrades edging the path as the six of them moved through the imperial complex. The winding series of porticoes and verandas connecting the tightly packed buildings that they'd been traveling soon opened out into a vast garden area. Tasuki looked around at the landscape as they walked. Damselflies darted and hovered above the rippling surface of a pond that stretched out to the left. The small crests reflected and refracted the setting sun's light back at the breezeway, splashing gold across the underside of the structure's wooden roof. The heady fragrance of gardenia tickled his nose as the group passed clouds of white-flowered bushes kneeling before hunched and gnarled pines that swayed in the warm breeze. Across the garden, Tasuki saw an octagonal gazebo on the edge of the pond surrounded by ancient willows, their weeping branches switching lazily. Pale pink and rich red camellias nestled among the trees' roots around the structure. The bushes' sweet and delicate floral scent hid beneath the stronger scent of the other flowers, but Tasuki could still smell them.

Chiriko gaped openly at the scenery. "The palace grounds are beautiful. Don't you think so, Mitsukake?"

The big man nodded, his own gaze flitting from one side of the breezeway to the other. In his tunic, Tama-neko shifted, pushing his furry head out to see what the fuss was all about. The cat cast a scrutinizing glance at the five warriors, the priestess, and the gardens around them, and, finding nothing of real import, returned to his nap in the confines of Mitsukake's saffron-colored coat.

Tasuki inclined his head slightly toward the silent monk at his side. He studied him from the corner of one almond-shaped eye. He took in the gentle sweep of Chichiri's jaw, the graceful arch of his neck, and felt his heart jump in his chest. The monk allured and intrigued him more with each passing minute. What was he hiding behind that expression and that strange behavior? He blushed furiously as Chichiri looked over and caught his sidelong gaze. The monk's face was impassive but for that smile, and Tasuki knew he'd sensed the weight of his stare immediately. He swallowed hard and returned his eyes to the path with a toss of his head, his fiery hair doing little to hide the scarlet spreading like wildfire across his face.

As the group left the breezeway and gardens behind, more lacquered palace buildings swallowed up the wide open space along the path. A series of wide, polished brick stairs flared out just past the first building. The short flight led down to another bricked veranda perpendicular to the one they traveled. "We're almost there, everyone. The guest palace is just a little further." Upon reaching the last step, Nuriko slipped to the right side of the passage to avoid two giggling courtiers exiting the harem's palace. Both young women eyed the Shichiseishi, whispering behind their hands as they climbed the stairway and headed toward the gardens the warriors had just left.

"Damn, these rooms 'is Highness gave us're really far away," Tasuki commented, turning to look back the way they had come. "How're we gonna get back there b'fore dinner's ready?"

"Yes, it does seem a very long way to travel," Mitsukake agreed. Chiriko nodded distractedly, still enraptured by the rapidly setting sun's gilding along all the rooftops and trees.

"Oh, I guess I should have told you," Nuriko giggled behind his hand. "If you take a left at the bottom of the staircase we came down instead of the right we took, you can get to the royal audience chamber in just a few seconds."

"What?!" Tasuki scowled, fangs bared, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. "Yah asshole, yah knew that an' then took us on this fuckin' wild goose chase through th' entire palace?!" He took a menacing step toward the shorter man, eyes narrowed to slits.

Chichiri grabbed Tasuki's coat-clad shoulder with a firm yet gentle hand, effectively checking his forward movement. "Calm down, Tasuki, no da. The passage Nuriko mentioned is only used by harem members and royal advisors, no da. I'm sure His Highness wanted to be brought up to speed on what's happened in Kounan during his absence, so there was no point in all of us parading through his meeting just to save time, na no da. Besides," he said, letting go, "we're here, no da."

"Okay, everyone," Nuriko announced, stopping before an unassuming brick-tiled veranda that stretched out into the fading afternoon light. He gestured down the hallway. "His Highness has graciously allowed us, as Suzaku Warriors, the run of the entire guest palace. There should be more than enough space for all of you here."

"Aren't you and the priestess staying in the guest palace, too?" Chiriko cocked his head to the side, the light breeze tousling his blond hair.

"Well, I already have a room in the harem's palace, so I don't need one."

"Don't worry, Chiriko," Miaka said, "Nuriko will be here with us most of the time. And I have a room here in the guest palace, so we'll all be together." Glancing at the darkening sky, the girl turned her attention to the group as a whole. "We still have a little time before dinner, so why don't you all try to get settled in your rooms and we can all meet back up in the banquet hall?" She smiled and twined her arm around Nuriko's. They headed off toward the harem's palace and the courtier's room, laughing and whispering as they went.

Placing a large hand on Chiriko's shoulder, Mitsukake gave him a small smile. "Come, Chiriko. We should take some time to rest after the long journey we've had." He looked up at Chichiri as the monk stood silently back from the remaining Suzaku Warriors. "We'll see you and Tasuki at dinner, then." The two made their way down the hall, leaving the monk and the bandit alone.

"I've got a few things I want to do before the banquet, so I'll see you later, no da."

Tasuki whirled at his words, the first he'd spoken in quite some time, to find Chichiri walking off down the darkening brick portico. The moon crested the tops of the trees as the last vestiges of the sun retreated, repainting everything in a cool silver glow: the buildings, the landscape, and Chichiri's hair. His long ponytail swayed across his back with each step, his kesa rippling against his lean body in the cooling night air. Tasuki could still feel the monk's hand on his shoulder, warm and strong and gentle. A powerful twinge of desire hit him then, to unravel the puzzle that was Chichiri, and to be near him again, even for just a moment.  _Yer in way over yer head, Tasuki,_  he thought to himself, eyes following the monk until he disappeared around the corner at the end of the veranda.

\- o - o - o -

As the warriors filed in, Tasuki looked around in appreciation. Lavish silk tapestries and bronze statuary lined the walls of the sumptuous banquet hall. Only seven place settings, one place for each seishi including Miaka, the priestess, graced the long, mahogany table, yet the amount of food was enough for three times that number. His mouth began to water when he saw the food. The briny tang of steamed yuntun filled with shrimp and minced pork wafted from one black lacquerware plate. Ban mian heaped high with vegetables sat next to it, a few noodles snaking over the side of its celadon bowl. A shallow dish of suanrong zheng shanbei steamed nearby, scallops and green onions emerging like tiny islands from its pungent garlic and ginger sauce.

Hotohori commanded the head of the table, flanked by two eager chamberlains. One clutched a large bottle of wine while the other waited patiently to clear the empty dishes for the next course. "Now then," he said, "how do we return Tamahome back to Kounan?"

To Hotohori's left, Miaka, Nuriko, and Chichiri ate as if they were at a family dinner. They reached across the table to grab bits of food with their chopsticks, laughing and talking all the while. To Hotohori's right, the newest warriors sat in silence, unmoving.

Tasuki frowned down at his still-empty plate. He wanted so badly to start eating, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd be hauled away by the guards before he got the chance.  _I hit th' emperor an' yelled at 'im an'..._ Tasuki berated himself, chagrin vying with mortification. There was no way his crimes could be overlooked. He'd kidnapped Miaka and attacked both Hotohori and Nuriko...

"Relax, my friends," Hotohori laughed, a smile touching his lips at their expressions. "I am still the man you traveled with, one of the Suzaku Seven." When they calmed down enough to start helping themselves to the myriad dishes, he continued, adopting a more serious tone. "The main problem is that we must retrieve Suzaku's scroll,  _The Universe of the Four Gods_ , as well as Tamahome, from the enemy. The scroll contains the details of the complex ritual to summon Suzaku. I can only remember a bit of it. We must find some way of reclaiming it without triggering a war."

With no hesitation, Miaka spoke up. "I'll go and get it. I'll go to Kutou and free Tamahome, then I'll figure out how to get Suzaku's scroll back, too." She looked at Hotohori squarely.

The emperor shook his head, a small frown on his lips. "Miaka, what are you saying?"

"It's my fault  _The Universe of the Four Gods_  was taken in the first place," she said. Guilt flickered across her face.

"But–"

"I could go with her, no da. However, before we leave, I think we should discuss the operation with Tamahome himself, na no da."

At the sound of Chichiri's voice, Tasuki looked up from his meal and stared at the monk. ' _I could go with her, no da...' What? Wait. He an' Miaka 're_ _goin' t' Kutou?_ _That's fuckin' crazy. They'll both be injured er captured er worse._  How could he possibly let his priestess, a fifteen-year-old girl, run off to a hostile foreign country with only the monk to look after her?

\- o - o - o -

Tasuki meandered through the nearly deserted palace. His heavy boots rang through the scarlet-lacquered hallways. Coming to another perpendicular veranda at the end of the interior corridor he traveled, a moonlit garden opened up before him. He took in the comfortably cool night breeze, the sounds of crickets chirping, and the robust silver moon standing watch above and he found his thoughts turning once again to Chichiri.

From the moment Tasuki had arrived at the palace and first lain eyes on the monk, he hadn't been able to get him out of his mind: his strange speech pattern, the way he seemed to know more than he let on, the graceful, confident way he carried himself, his exceedingly handsome alabaster face, permanently amused look notwithstanding. He stopped to admire the moonlight and sweet perfume of night-blooming lilies beneath an ancient and gnarled ginkgo tree. Throwing his arms casually over the balustrade, Tasuki leaned on its firm weight as the wind ruffled his hair. He could have sworn he'd seen Chichiri blush when he caught his not-quite-secret appraisal, but he couldn't be sure. That expression of his made it nearly impossible to read him or his true demeanor.  _Ah well, no use worryin' 'bout it right now._

He grinned and straightened, continuing up the staircase to his right. He'd go see Chichiri later, if he could think of a good excuse for his visit. Rounding a lantern-lit corner, the veranda he'd been traveling had become the covered balcony of another building. Below, another veranda led to the eastern wing of the imperial compound.  _That's where th' guest palace is, ain't it?_ He followed the tiled hallway with his eyes and, in his reverie, nearly bumped into Hotohori. He stopped just short of walking right through the man. "Yer Highness, what're yah doin' out here?" An air of melancholy surrounded the emperor and Tasuki raised an eyebrow. "Yah look like yer best friend just died."

Hotohori smiled, a faint curving of his thin, delicate lips. "No, I'm quite all right, Tasuki. I'm just enjoying the evening air tonight, that's all." The sadness in the emperor's eyes and words both confused Tasuki and piqued his curiosity. He opened his mouth to ask Hotohori what was wrong, but before he could continue, the echo of rushed footsteps cut him off. Both men turned toward the sound. Miaka ran down the corridor below them at a break-neck pace. It was then that Tasuki remembered the meeting Chichiri had set up with this Tamahome Miaka had gone on about at dinner.

"Hey, Miaka!" he called, but was promptly hushed by Hotohori.

"No, Tasuki, don't call her. She will finally be with Tamahome, so let's leave them both alone."

"Huh?" Tasuki turned and stared at Hotohori, eyes wide. "What?" Was this Tamahome interested in Miaka too? So, why wasn't the emperor trying to stop her from seeing this guy? How could Hotohori be so calm when he was essentially backing down and giving Miaka leave to be with another man? Tasuki had heard the tender words shared between them at the bandit stronghold and again in Choukou. He'd seen the looks Hotohori had given her, the death-defying risks he'd taken for her. There was no way Hotohori could pretend all of that never happened. Tasuki stared in stupefaction. Was this really the same man that he'd met at Mount Reikaku?

"What's goin' on? I figured you an' Miaka were goin' together..." Suddenly, he looked up, a fanged grin of comprehension spreading across his face. "Ah! I get it, a love triangle!"

As soon as the words left his lips, pain blasted through him like a shot, doubling him over and leaving him gasping for air. He hadn't noticed Nuriko's quiet entry into the conversation. Apparently, the slight, yet powerful, seishi had decided he needed to defend his emperor's honor by suckerpunching him. Though, Tasuki had a sneaking feeling he did it just to do it. As he tried to catch his breath, he looked up to see Nuriko smirking and dusting himself off. "I had to do it. He's an insensitive country clod, Your Majesty," he said, the self-righteous tone of his voice tinged with smug satisfaction. "And as for you, Tasuki, watch your mouth in the presence of your emperor." Nuriko lent him a hand to help him up, sunny smile still in place despite Tasuki's wheezing.

The redhead glared as fiercely as he could. "Hey, what th' fuck was that for?!" he tried to shout, though it sounded more like a cough than the growl he had hoped for. That fact just made Nuriko giggle. He winked, finger wagging in mock severity. Snarling in frustration, Tasuki bared his fangs, hoping to add an air of danger to his outburst. The plan backfired. Nuriko doubled over, howling with laughter, and, with one slender finger, wiped away tears collecting at the corner of his eye. Slapping away the hand offered him, Tasuki scowled and stomped off, his own hand held gingerly over his stomach.

\- o - o - o -

_Fuck, I hate that guy sometimes_ , he thought with a frown. The heels of his boots echoed off the lacquered wooden walls of the veranda. The far-off quivering peal of an owl joined the trilling symphony of crickets and cicadas reveling in the midsummer night in the garden just beyond the reach of the lanterns. Above, the moon sat higher in the deep black sky, having risen since the banquet's end. Tasuki's mind wandered back to Chichiri and how his spell was progressing. It had been a while since Miaka had rushed to the monk's chamber, but he knew she was still talking. The thought of her prattling on with Tamahome while the monk tried to keep the spell going as long as possible brought a smile to his lips.  _I know,_ _I'll go see how they're doin'_ , he suggested to himself, thrilled to have found his excuse. He was already past his own door and halfway to the other man's before he had even noticed.

He reached out to grasp the bronze door pull just as Miaka bounced out of the room, nearly bowling him over. With a mumbled apology, she skipped off down the hallway. Her unbound hair fluttered behind her as she rounded a corner and was gone from sight. Shaking his head, Tasuki returned his attention to the now-open door. That same scent of sandalwood he'd smelled earlier was there again and stronger. He flushed with anticipation. Leaning into the quiet room, Tasuki planted his hands on either side of the doorframe, bracing himself as he looked around. "Hey, Chichiri, where are yah?"

"Tasuki, no da? What are you doing here, no da?"

Chichiri's light, playful voice sounded from inside the room to the left. Turning towards the sound, Tasuki took in the sight before him. Thick, white candles flickered in tall, bronze holders while incense curled out of a small, ornate censer in the shape of a mountain. The items were arranged before a large, patterned screen dominating the far end of the chamber. This was obviously the medium the monk had used to speak to Tamahome. Chichiri himself sat cross-legged, hands steepled as if in prayer. Upon seeing Tasuki, he raised an eyebrow. Tasuki's face lit up, a fanged grin coming unbidden to his lips, and he took a small step into the room.

"Well, I was just passin' by an' I thought maybe yah might want some company."

"You do realize your room is at the opposite end of the hall, right, no da?" Chichiri chuckled. He was surprised and a bit flattered to find the bandit at his chamber door mere seconds after Miaka had left. It was almost as if he'd known the exact moment he'd be alone. "Come in, na no da." He extinguished the half-spent candles and, lifting the bronze lid of the censer, tapped out the smoldering cone in the tiny hill of sand at the bottom of the vessel. Rising to his feet, he motioned for Tasuki to enter as he made his way to the small, ornately carved table hugging the wall near the door. Chichiri lifted a plain black-lacquered tray containing a porcelain tea service and waited as Tasuki strode fully into his room. Their shoulders brushed very lightly as he walked past, and Chichiri pulled the door shut behind him.

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri motioned to Tasuki to have a seat at the small circular table near the center of the chamber. A lantern hanging from the coffered ceiling above it suffused the room with a cozy, orangey glow. Tasuki pulled his tessen over his head and shrugged off his black leather coat. The ivory tunic he wore underneath accentuated his athletic frame and Chichiri could see a bit of Tasuki's tanned skin where the tunic was loosely tied at his shoulder. Tasuki draped the coat and tessen over the back of the chair, dropping himself into it as if he owned it.

Placing the tray on the table, Chichiri took a seat himself. "So, what can I do for you, Tasuki, no da?" he asked, pouring them both a cup of tea. Wispy tendrils of steam rose from the liquid's surface as Chichiri handed him the celadon teacup. Their fingers touched briefly as Tasuki accepted the cup with a nod.

"Well, I came t' see how yah were doin'," the bandit replied, "'cause that spell looks like it wore yah out." Raising his cup to his lips to take a sip, Tasuki forced himself to look as evenly at Chichiri as he could. He didn't want to make it obvious that he was sizing the monk up.

"Miaka did spend a lot of time getting ready, no da. I had to keep the channel open for nearly twenty minutes before she finally arrived, na no da." Miaka's talk with Tamahome had gone on much longer than Chichiri had anticipated. Though, he really should have known the two lovers would have wanted to see and talk to each other for as long as possible.  _And I can't blame them, can I, no da?_  He smiled ruefully. It reminded him that he had also been that young once. He pushed the thought away before it could become too painful.

"Yah know, I've been meanin' t' ask yah, are yah really a monk? 'Cause th' only other monk I ever saw sure wasn't as weird as you," Tasuki said, eyebrow cocked. The bizarre, almost childlike way Chichiri had acted prior to dinner was so at odds with his now-calm, almost reserved demeanor. "I was just wonderin' 'cause o' how yah came runnin' up t' us when we arrived, that's all."

"Well, that's rude, no da." Chichiri chuckled. "And I'm your basic wandering monk, no da. Are you really a bandit?" Taking another sip of his tea, he peered at Tasuki over the rim of the cup. He smirked and made a quick gesture toward the gemstone earrings and necklaces gracing Tasuki's ears and neck.

"Damn straight," Tasuki declared, sitting up just a bit straighter in his chair. A roguish fanged grin spread across his face. "I'm th' leader of th' world-famous bandits o' Mount Reikaku." He watched one of Chichiri's eyebrows rise slightly. The monk said nothing, but his eyes darted immediately to the pearly fangs peeking out from the edges of his smile. Tasuki frowned. "I suppose that means yah haven't heard o' us."

Chichiri chuckled into his tea. He enjoyed the tenor rumble of Tasuki's distinctly western Kounan accent. It did make him wonder about the redhead's background though. He'd not had much occasion to pass near Mount Reikaku in his journeys as a wanderer.  _If I_   _had, would I have still been as struck by him as when we met just hours ago, no da?_

"So, how come yah didn't come out t' Mount Reikaku with Miaka an' th' others? I know fer sure I didn't see yah anywhere 'round there an' I didn't see yah at Choukou village either. I thought all th' Suzaku Warriors were s'pose'ta help protect th' priestess."

"Even though His Highness is one of the Suzaku Seven, he can't just go off into danger, no da. If the nobles knew he had gone off to find the remaining celestial warriors, they would have had a fit, na no da. Not to mention the opportunity his absence would present to our enemies, no da. So, we decided that the only way he could go and not arouse suspicion was if I took his place, na no da."

"Yah mean yah got t' be th' emperor fer awhile?" Tasuki asked. How could anyone, especially a blue-haired monk, could get away with impersonating Hotohori? Not only did they not look alike, there was nothing Tasuki could think of that was even remotely similar about the two men except for their celestial characters.

"Yes, and the boredom nearly killed me, no da." Chichiri laughed, a true smile on his lip behind his grinning mask. All those meetings and audiences and reports and disputes: how Hotohori managed to stay sane dealing with all those issues was beyond him.

Setting down his teacup on the tabletop, Tasuki shot the still-chuckling Chichiri a dubious look. He cocked his head, his hair falling across his nose and in front of his eyes. "How'd yah pull that off? Yah don't look anythin' alike."

Chichiri sat down his own teacup. He made a show of pushing up the mid-length sleeves of his tunic past his elbows, giving Tasuki an impish smile. "Well, like this, no da," he said. Tasuki arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. With a deep breath, a loud "Da!," and a puff of ivory smoke, Chichiri transformed into an exact copy of Tasuki, right down to the pearly fangs and the iron tessen he wore slung across his back. "Whadda yah think?" he asked, imitating Tasuki's country accent perfectly.

"Aaaahhhhh!" Tasuki launched himself backward and away from his copy-self. The chair tipped up on its rear legs and, for one endless moment, both Tasuki and the chair teetered between standing and falling. His eyes went wide in horror and he fumbled for the table edge, but it was too late. Almost as if in slow motion, the precarious balance gave way. Tasuki hit the ground in a jumble of leather and clacking jade beads, his head smacking sharply on the dark brick. "Ow, fuck," he groaned and rubbed the back of his head. A scalding blush spread across his face as embarrassment seized him. He looked up and into another cream-colored cloud.

"Are you alright, Tasuki, no da?" Chichiri chuckled as the veil of smoke cleared and he was again his own shape.  _Honestly, I didn't think it would shock you that much, no da,_  he thought, a twinge of regret passing through him. He rose from the table and moved to help Tasuki up. Holding out a hand, Chichiri hoped he hadn't been injured.

"That was  **not**  fuckin'  **funny** , Chichiri!" Tasuki growled. He grabbed the proffered hand and, with Chichiri's help, hauled himself to his feet. Fangs bared and eyes narrowed, he scowled at the monk. Tasuki hastily uprighted the chair and flopped down into it. Crossing his arms again over his chest, he pouted as Chichiri finally managed to master his amusement.

Seating himself, Chichiri grinned. Tasuki's anger was belied by the faint hints of scarlet still tinting his face. "I'm sorry, Tasuki, no da. I didn't mean for you to hurt yourself, na no da," he said, waving his hands in mock surrender.

With a soft "humph," Tasuki leaned forward onto the edge of the table, propping himself up on his folded arms. Retrieving his cup, he took a long swig to regain some of his lost composure. "How'dja do that, anyway? I didn't see yah use any omamori er anythin'," he said after a moment.

"It's not too much trouble for me to assume the shape of someone I know or have seen before, no da," Chichiri said, tracing the soft shadows playing across Tasuki's face with his eyes. He hadn't been able to forget that face since he'd seen the redhead staring at him over Miaka's shoulder earlier that afternoon. "I can conjure pretty convincing illusions that most people can't distinguish from the real thing, na no da." Raising an eyebrow, he cocked his head to the side. "And how do you know how to use omamori, no da?"

"Well," Tasuki began, "before joinin' up with Miaka an' th' others, I'd been on a journey t' find a cure fer th' ol' boss' illness. He got real sick an' needed help, so I left t' find one. While I was out there, I ran inta this monk who gave me a stack o' paper talismans an' said they'd summon phantom wolves if I said some magic words over 'em." He paused as Chichiri refilled his teacup before refilling his own. The politeness of the monk's manner continued to intrigue him. "But when 'is Highness, Nuriko, an' Miaka came t' find me as th' fifth celestial warrior," Tasuki continued with a scowl, "Miaka wrote all over 'em an' wasted th' one's I had left!"

"Miaka can definitely be a handful, no da," Chichiri agreed. Stifling a yawn, he appraised the younger seishi. Under his gaze, Tasuki fidgeted with the smooth porcelain vessel in his hand. He shifted restlessly on his chair, first one way then the other. His body seemed barely able to contain a passion Chichiri had never seen before. It was an energy that had little to do with the gifts bestowed upon them by Suzaku. Waves of life energy radiated from Tasuki, bathing them and the entire chamber in a warm glow. It wasn't the blinding red light of their celestial brands, but a familiar, more subtle heat. Chichiri wondered briefly if it was the recognition of a fellow Warrior of Suzaku, but the magnetic pull he felt toward the fiery seishi was different, something he couldn't quite remember.  _I guess I'll just have to wait and see,_ he thought and turned his head to look at the robust moon outside his windows.

Several long minutes ticked by as Tasuki watched Chichiri's focus shift from the conversation to the openwork lattice windows lining the wall behind his modest bedstead. The perennial smile on his face seemed to dim somewhat, the edges curving down ever so slightly into a tiny frown. He never expected such a morose aura from Chichiri: maybe reservation, maybe thoughtfulness, but not the pensive, almost brooding air that seemed to consume him now. The man's inconsistencies fascinated him. "So, what's th' plan fer this trip t' Kutou tomorrow night?" he asked finally, hoping to draw the other man back out of his unexpected melancholy.

"Going into the enemy's stronghold is going to be dangerous, no da," Chichiri said. He brought his gaze back to Tasuki's, the heaviness of his mood still apparent despite the return of his smile. "The Kutou general, Nakago, is an extremely powerful adversary, no da. Tamahome and I had a difficult time with him the last time we were there, na no da." He looked down at the rapidly cooling tea in his hands for a moment before draining the cup. The lukewarm liquid rolled over his tongue like a small, slightly bitter flood, and he reached for the teapot. "Would you like some more tea, no da?"

"Nah. Still workin' on this cup," Tasuki replied. He watched the way Chichiri's slender fingers embraced the round, pale-green vessel as he lifted it to refill his cup.  _There's no way 'e's my age_ , he thought. He blinked a few times as he remembered Chichiri's words. "Wait a minute. Yah went t' Kutou? When was that?"

"Before Miaka found the rest of the Suzaku Seven: you, Mitsukake, and Chiriko, no da. She wanted to find her friend who the Seiryuu are trying to force to become their priestess, to try to save her, no da." Setting down the pot, Chichiri took another sip of tea. "Unfortunately, the girl stayed behind and I was barely able to hold off Nakago's attacks so Tamahome and Miaka could escape, na no da."

"Why'd she just run off like that? She could've been killed. You could've been killed." Tasuki leaned forward on the edge of his chair, brow furrowed in concern.

"She feels responsible for what happened to her friend when she left the Universe of the Four Gods, no da. Apparently, when Miaka left, the other girl was transported here because their clothing linked them together, no da. And when she arrived, she landed in Kutou, to a particularly nasty welcome, na no da." Chichiri shook his head to remove the painful images they'd watched in Taiitsukun's mirror from his mind. He set the porcelain teacup down and sat back in his chair, taking in Tasuki's worried expression. Every emotion Tasuki felt was displayed on his handsome, open face and in his clear, untroubled eyes. He admired that youthful enthusiasm and saw in Tasuki a little bit of the man he himself had once been.

"There sure was a lotta stuff happenin' b'fore I got 'ere. So, yer sayin' we can't just walk in th' front door this time, huh?"

"No, definitely not, no da," Chichiri said, shaking his head. "After my spell blew apart their shrine to Seiryuu, I know for certain they've increased their guard patrols and reinforced the barrier around the capital, no da. And when I connected Miaka and Tamahome earlier this evening, I could sense a barrier around him and his room specifically, na no da."

Tasuki propped his head up on one hand. He quirked his lips and one pearly fang poked out from the corner of his mouth. "How're we gonna get Tamahome an' th' scroll then?"

"Well, the plan is for Miaka and me to sneak in where the barrier is weakest, find the meeting spot she and Tamahome agreed upon, get him and the scroll, then get out as quickly and quietly as possible, no da." Across the table from him, Tasuki raised his head. Chichiri watched Tasuki's eyes widen, his expression shifting seamlessly from concern to surprise to anger as he continued to speak. "There's a lot riding on getting this right, no da."

Tasuki shot up from the table, knocking his coat-clad chair to the ground with a resounding thud. He slammed both hands down on the wooden tabletop. "Are yah fuckin' crazy?!" The jade- and glass-beaded necklaces he wore clattered together and his earrings swung wildly at his jaw. "Yah just said this Nakago guy's gonna be tough. Yer gonna need some backup, so take me with yah."

"Tasuki," Chichiri gasped, his pulse racing at the bandit's sudden ferocity. The earthy scents of leather and the forest enveloped him as Tasuki leaned in toward him across the table.

Tasuki doggedly stared the older seishi down. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. "Lemme go with yah, Chichiri. I can protect Miaka. An' you." There was no way he was going to let anything happen to Miaka on his watch. But, the mere suggestion that he might never see Chichiri again should something go wrong... He could not and would not let them go alone if there was even a small chance he could protect them.

"I'm sorry, but I can't, no da. My magic will be taxed enough getting there and getting out while trying to hide our life force from the Seiryuu and the Kutou army, no da. Bringing along more people will only endanger the mission, na no da."

_Dammit! Yer gonna get yerself killed._  Tasuki's brow furrowed in dismay. How could Chichiri refuse? Didn't he know what kind of danger he would be facing? He tried once more to convince the monk. "Yah hafta lemme help yah. Yah can't do it by yerself. If somethin' happens..." Clenching one hand into a fist, Tasuki struck the table again in desperation. "Chichiri, please. Lemme go with yah."

"No, Tasuki, no da." Chichiri stood. "I'm sorry, no da." Their eyes met, each man staring at the other for a long moment. It was a mute test of wills waged and lost. Tasuki looked away first, seemingly unable to hold Chichiri's look any longer. He uprighted the nearly forgotten chair, reclaiming his coat and tessen as he did so. Chichiri smiled a bit ruefully.  _No one else needs to put themselves in danger,_  he thought as he gently guided the now-quiet redhead to the door. Tasuki stepped past him and into the hallway, boots clicking across the polished brick.

"Now, if you don't mind," Chichiri said, mask beaming cheerfully despite the tension between them, "I need to get some sleep, no da. This trip isn't going to be easy, and in this climate of unrest, it'll be even harder, na no da." He began to push the heavy door closed, casting the veranda slowly back into hazy lantern-lit shadow.

Tasuki started to turn away, shoulders set squarely to disguise the frustration and hurt swirling in his mind. Did the man have a death wish? No matter how powerful Chichiri's magic might be, Tasuki believed with every fiber of his being that the monk couldn't handle everything by himself. An unspoken attraction had passed between them, he was sure of it: it licked at the back of his mind, fluttered in the pit of his stomach. He was falling for him and, whether Chichiri liked it or not, he would find a way to accompany them to Kutou. And he knew just how to do it.

"Wait, Tasuki, no da."

"Eh?" His coat whispered about the tops of his boots as Tasuki turned at Chichiri's quiet words. He squinted in the sliver of illumination backlighting the face gazing from the doorway.

"Thank you," Chichiri said softly, allowing himself to drop the silly tone in his voice. He regarded Tasuki for a moment before pushing the door closed with a gentle thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 1
> 
> **Li** → (lowercase) a traditional Chinese unit of measure for distance, roughly equal to a third of a mile  
>  **Choukou** → a city in northern Kounan where Mitsukake and Shouka live(d)  
>  **Hakukou** → a village in eastern Kounan where Tamahome's family live(d)  
>  **Eiyou** → the capital of Kounan, located in the south of the country  
>  **Ganshao Niuhe** → Beef Chow Fun, rice noodles stir-fried with beef, beansprouts, onions, and soy sauce  
>  **Yuntun Mian** → Cantonese-style soup dish with shrimp dumplings (wontons) in a light fish broth with egg noodles  
>  **Suanrong Zheng Shanbei** → Cantonese dish, steamed scallops with ginger and garlic  
>  **Ban Mian** → stir-fried wheat-flour noodles with vegetables, Chinese term for “Lo Mien”  
>  **Kesa** → a Buddhist monk's stole worn over the left shoulder  
>  **Celadon** → the name for a jade-green glaze used on ceramics and also a type of ceramicware created in China starting in the Eastern Han dynasty  
>  **Omamori** → in Shintoism, prayers to gods written on strips of paper or wood for good luck, oftentimes ascribed magical powers in literature or anime


	2. Silent Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chichiri, Tasuki, and Miaka make their way to Kutou, and all three find much more than they bargained for.

_Why's she gotta eat so much anyway?_  Tasuki thought to himself as he slipped the handkerchief-wrapped cha shao bao into his coat pocket. The smell of barbecued pork made his mouth water, but he had to stick with the plan. He was betting everything on that little bun.

The heels of his boots rang against the brick floors as he walked to the imperial residence. Tasuki found it interesting that they'd chosen the emperor's own private rooms to work this magic. Though, from what Chichiri had said the night before, it could cause some serious trouble if news got back to Kutou before the mission was complete.  _Chichiri..._ Neither the man's face nor their conversation had left his head and Tasuki doubted if either would any time soon. How could Chichiri expect him to just sit back and let him and Miaka do this without any help?

With a sigh, Tasuki continued on. Night had fallen just a few hours before, but the still-full moon was only just clearing the tiled roofs of the palace buildings. A pair of sentries paused as Tasuki passed, bowing low before hurrying away down the lantern-lit veranda in the opposite direction. He glanced out into the moon-drenched gardens. Crickets chirped a slow and sleepy song while fireflies pulsed in the bushes lining the walkway.

The warm evening breeze brought the scent of rosewater perfume with it as it ruffled Tasuki's unruly hair. He looked up to see a handful of courtesans turn the corner of an adjoining corridor directly into his path farther down the portico. The women's silk robes whispered across the tiled floor as they walked and their jet black hair dripped with delicate, silver-filigreed ornaments. Scowling, Tasuki headed toward the slow-moving clump of women. Nuriko was going to yell at him, he just knew it. The courtesans talked and giggled, the group spreading out to take up nearly the entire width of the veranda. Sidling past the mob, Tasuki could feel the women staring as they whispered to each other behind their painted fans.  _I just hope I'm not too late,_ he thought as he watched two elaborately armored guards flanking the entrance to the royal quarters straighten and nod as he approached.

"Please enter, Warrior of Suzaku," the guard on the right said, pushing open the large bronze-faced doors.

"You are expected," the guard on the left said with a small bow.

"Uh, thanks," Tasuki answered, a little overwhelmed by the pomp and ceremony, and stepped inside.

\- o - o - o -

"Where have you been, Tasuki? We've all been waiting," Nuriko scolded, arms akimbo as Tasuki entered the emperor's antechamber.

The rest of the Shichiseishi were spread around the room and the air was abuzz with talk: of the trip, the summoning ceremony to come once Tamahome and the scroll were retrieved, and of the wishes they would receive from the god of the south. Tasuki glanced around the chamber, searching first for Chichiri and then for Miaka. Layers of pale yellow shadow danced about the small room from several lanterns hung from the coffered ceiling. In front of a silk-screened tapestry depicting Suzaku in flight, Mitsukake stood next to Chiriko. The big man nodded at something Chiriko had said that Tasuki couldn't hear, all the while playing with his cat. In the corner, next to a lacquered rosewood table filled with bronze statuary, Chichiri stood talking with Miaka. A wave of relief washed over him; they hadn't left yet. "Sorry, I gotta little lost gettin' 'ere," Tasuki replied. Taking up a place against a lacquered pillar near the door he'd entered through, he patted the slight bulge of the cha shao bao in his pocket.

Seated in an ornately carved rosewood chair near the back of the chamber, Hotohori smiled at Nuriko's irritation. "It's quite alright, Nuriko. We are all here now, so let us begin." He rose and made his way toward the center of the room and motioned for everyone to join him.

"How is this magic going to work exactly?" Chiriko asked, cocking his head and looking around the circle of celestial warriors. Next to him, Mitsukake folded his arms across his large chest. Tama-neko perched on Mitsukake's shoulder. He scrutinized the proceedings with a careful eye, tail swaying back and forth.

"Yes, Chichiri, how is this supposed to work?" Hotohori folded his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his robes.

"I'm going to use my kesa as a channel through which Miaka and I will travel, no da. Sort of a portal, if you will, na no da." He glanced over at Tasuki as he spoke. He remembered the redhead's words from the night before:  _"_ _Lemme go with yah, Chichiri. I can protect Miaka. An' you."_ The look in those amber eyes lingered still in his mind's eye, full of clear unwavering determination and something else he couldn't quite place. He watched as Tasuki shifted against the column, his posture easy and untroubled.  _Maybe he's decided to accept it, no da,_  Chichiri thought.

"Please, Miaka, don't do anything foolish while you're there," Nuriko said. He took Miaka's hands in his own slender ones.

Miaka smiled and gave Nuriko's hands a reassuring squeeze. "I won't, I promise. We'll be back here before you know it."

"Your Highness, we should get going, no da."

Hotohori sighed as he tried to hold back the worry from his voice. "Most of all, be very careful." The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as Miaka straightened out the wrinkles in the bow of her uniform.

"Are you sure that we can't go along with you, priestess?" Chiriko asked.

Miaka turned to Chichiri. "Can they?"

"It's really not a good idea to have more than necessary, no da." Chichiri shook his head. "It would put a strain on my barrier, no da. Even with me concealing our life force, the enemy may still detect us, na no da."

_Now's my chance,_  Tasuki thought and stepped forward, away from his place at the pillar. "I'm comin' with yah." He proudly drew up to his full height, looking directly at Miaka. There was no way he was going to falter now, not when he had his ace in the hole.

Miaka blinked a few times in surprise. "Tasuki..."

"I wanna meet Tamahome an' yah might need my fire."

Everyone looked at Tasuki, mouths agape. Miaka spoke up first, putting words to their expressions. "Didn't you hear what he just said?"

_Here we go_. "Oh,  **wait** , don't say  **no**  yet." With a sly smirk, Tasuki reached into his coat pocket and removed the small bundle wrapped in its handkerchief. Setting it gently in one hand, he made a show of unwrapping it, pulling one corner back at a time until the aroma of barbecued pork filled the air. "What about this  **delicious**  cha shao bao I have 'ere? I was  **gonna**  give it t' you,  **but**..." he trailed off. Shrugging his shoulders for emphasis, Tasuki began to rewrap the treat. He glanced at Miaka to find her staring longingly at the little bun. His gamble had paid off.

Suddenly, she seized a handful of Chichiri's tunic and pulled him down to her level. "Have some pity for the poor guy! Let's take him with us!" she declared, menacing the flabbergasted monk.

"Uh, well, sure, if you say so, no da." Chichiri took a deep breath as she let him go.

Pumping his fist in triumph, Tasuki grinned. Elation and relief rushed through him like a torrent. Chichiri couldn't possibly go against Miaka's wishes unless he wanted to disobey a direct order, and he knew the monk would do no such thing. He felt eyes watching him and, turning to Chichiri, met them with a roguish smile and a knowing look. A sharp yank on his arm tore his focus away from Chichiri's perturbed face. "Eh? Hey, hey!" he shouted as Miaka wrenched the bun, handkerchief and all, out of his hand. "I  **said**  yah could 'ave th' cha shao bao, but  **not**  th' hand that  **holds**  it!"

Chichiri sighed. He wasn't quite certain at what point he'd lost control of the situation. Against his wishes, Tasuki had essentially bribed Miaka with the one thing she would never refuse. Now the mission would be that much more dangerous, that much more complicated to complete successfully. And unless he wanted to defy Miaka's wishes, he couldn't turn Tasuki away.  _Why do you want to come with us so badly, no da?_  he thought to himself as he watched the girl wolf down the bun.

Chichiri unclasped his kesa from his shoulder, the brass rings of his shakujou tinkling. With a deft sweep of one well-muscled arm, he cast the navy wool to the ground. It rippled and fluttered until it lay smoothly. "Here, get on the kesa, no da."

Miaka and Tasuki stepped into the middle of the navy cloth as he began to chant. The kesa glowed, softly at first, then brighter until waves of light pulsated throughout the chamber. "Now, let's be off, no da!" With a great crash of metal on metal, Chichiri slammed the butt of the staff down. Under it, the blindingly lit rectangle began to liquify, drawing them all into its depths.

"We're on our way! Bye, everyone!" Miaka called as she sank into the light, Tasuki having fallen through before her.

"You be careful!" Nuriko shouted after her. His words were cut off as Chichiri jumped into the kesa with a loud "Da!" and it and they disappeared from sight.

\- o - o - o -

The three travelers materialized in a heap in the branches of a venerable ash tree. Roosting birds squawked in alarm, their wings beating against leaves as they fled the treetops around them. Tasuki groaned under the weight of both Miaka and Chichiri. He couldn't move to see it, but one of the branches was digging its way into his abdomen.

"Wow! Chichiri, your magic spell's fantastic! You transported us here instantly!" Miaka twisted this way and that to get a good look at the moonlit gardens below them. "But couldn't you have found us a better place to make our landing?"

Every movement wrenched a grunt from Tasuki's lips. He gasped for air; the limb pushed farther and farther into his diaphragm with each passing second. A sinister crack reverberated through the night and his breath hitched. His eyebrows shot toward his hairline.  _Oh, no. No. No, no, no._

The priestess noticed it, too. "Now what do we do, huh?!" Miaka cried. She squirmed around, the creaking and popping growing ever louder.

"Hey, stop movin' around!" Tasuki shouted as the branch began to pitch downward.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!" Crackling twigs and snapping wood punctuated Tasuki and Miaka's screams as they both crashed to the ground with a resounding leafy boom.

Empty air rushed up to meet Chichiri as the limb dropped. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed at another limb just as it fell away. Torn vegetation fluttered to the ground around him as the smell of fresh heartwood filled the air. Dangling by one hand, he scanned the empty garden for movement. He was certain the noise had alerted someone within the palace, but as seconds ticked by, no one appeared and he could feel no other life forces in the area. He hazarded a glance down. "Are you alright, no da?"

"If all wrong is alright, no da," Tasuki and Miaka groaned.

Shaking broken twigs and shredded leaves from his hair, Tasuki shot Chichiri a nasty look as the monk let go and landed quietly on the grass behind him. It irritated him that Chichiri had managed to avoid the fall while he and Miaka had ended up in an aching heap, but he was glad that the monk hadn't been injured.  _Shit, this whole thing'll be fer nothin' if either one o' 'em ends up hurt now,_  he thought. Reaching to remove a shattered piece of wood from his lap, his fingers brushed something furry under the leaves. "Huh?" Tasuki peeked under the vegetation and started. Tama-neko lay curled up in a ball next to him. The cat looked up and mewed. "Mitsukake's cat came with us, too."

"Huh?" Plucking some broken shoots from her odangos, Miaka took Chichiri's proffered hand and rose to her feet. She took a moment to smooth out the pleats in her skirt and brush pieces of bark off her blouse. In front of her, Tama-neko jumped out of the brush pile. He gingerly wove around the debris to find a clear patch of ground to stretch on. "Wow! It's our lucky day!" Miaka scooped up the hapless cat and clutched it to her chest.

"Why's that?" Dusting off the shoulders of his coat, Tasuki removed the rest of the branches from his lap and started to push himself to his feet. A pale hand appeared before him and glancing up, he saw Chichiri reaching out to help him. Tasuki grinned, fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth, and firmly grabbed Chichiri's arm. The monk pulled him to standing, looking him over for a moment before dropping his hand.  _Well, 'e can't be too mad at me if 'e's helpin' me up,_ Tasuki thought.

A starry-eyed look came over Miaka's face. Tama-neko's tail jerked forcefully back and forth as she spoke. "Well, because I promised Tamahome I'd meet him at the big tree in the middle of the palace gardens that's surrounded by sweet-smelling flowers." Turning to Tasuki and Chichiri, she explained. "See, animals can smell better than we can, so he can find the meeting place for us." With an irritated meow, the cat squirmed out of Miaka's grip and leapt to the ground.

"Right! I get it!" Tasuki pounded his fist into his palm. He'd never thought that the cat could be so useful to them. He was sure it would just get in their way and slow them down. Now they had a shot of completing the mission successfully and sooner than he'd hoped.  _Maybe Chichiri'll be happy now that we've gotta tracker workin' for us._ The monk had been very quiet up till now and that concerned him. "Well cat, it's up t' you t' lead us to 'im." Almost as if Tama-neko had comprehended Tasuki's words, he stalked off into the grass.

\- o - o - o -

Tasuki glanced around as the three of them made their way through the dark gardens. Cold, silver moonlight brought every plant and structure into stark relief. An octagonal gazebo loomed out of the darkness across a clearing to his left. Its shape and construction weren't too different from the one Tasuki had seen upon his arrival at the palace in Kounan–sculpted dragons graced its roof, not phoenixes–but somehow it just seemed menacing in the harsh moonlight. Even the grass beneath his boots seemed sharp and uncomfortable. Behind it all lurked a vague malevolence that set Tasuki on edge.  _That's gotta be Seiryuu's power I'm feelin',_  he thought. Reflexively, he drew one hand into a fist. Just ahead of him, he saw Miaka following behind Tama-neko. She trailed the cat like a shadow, matching its moves step for step. She seemed so happy to get this Tamahome guy back and he wasn't going to stop her from meeting him; he just wanted to be ready if that feeling became a tangible threat.

To his right, he saw Chichiri surveying the dark treeline, his head swiveling back and forth. He knew Chichiri could sense the aura of the place just by the tension in his shoulders. Leaves rustled loudly in the stillness as Miaka pushed through the brush, charged through the hedges, and jumped over flowering plants to keep up with the much lighter, much quieter cat. Tasuki was sure Miaka's borderline disregard of the danger or the need for secrecy worried him. Chichiri needed a second set of eyes to keep her out of trouble, whether he wanted to admit it or not.  _And,_  Tasuki thought,  _I need t' watch 'is back, too._

Parting a tall clump of fountain grass, Miaka sighed heavily. "How much further?" A light floral fragrance washed over the group the moment the grass was disturbed. She gasped as Tama-neko jumped through the plant and into a wide ring of blue hydrangeas. In the center stood a massive oak tree, branches stretching out above them like a leafy roof. "It's our meeting place! Great job, kitty!" She eagerly climbed out of the grass and into the dappled moonlight.

\- o - o - o -

Nothing moved in the gardens for as far as Chichiri could see. Only the haunting hoot of a far-off owl broke the stillness. The trio had spread out to take up places around the base of the tree, watching for signs of Tamahome's approach. It seemed odd to him that not even crickets, ubiquitous in the four kingdoms, could be heard.  _Something doesn't feel right about this place, no da._  He glanced over at Tasuki. The redhead didn't seem to be too concerned by the weird air that permeated the garden; Chichiri thought he looked almost bored leaning against the dark gray bark of the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. Above them, the moon continued its march across the sky, slowly achieving its zenith then beginning to sink once more toward the horizon. The appointed time had come and gone.

"So, this guy thinks 'e's so hot 'e can blow off dates," Tasuki spat, shifting impatiently against the tree trunk. He'd spent an hour watching Miaka pace back and forth, back and forth, wringing her hands and staring off into the dark bushes. It pissed him off. How dare this Tamahome blow her off? No one deserved to be made a fool of like that, especially not the Priestess of Suzaku. "Or's 'e scared t' show 'cause 'e doesn't want t' give up 'is new girlfriend here?" There was the possibility this guy had found himself someone else to shack up with, but if that were true, he sure couldn't respect a comrade-in-arms who would mess with impressionable girls that way.

Miaka stopped in mid-stride and glared at Tasuki. "Tamahome isn't scared of anything!" she shouted. "He'll come, I know he will! Any minute now, he'll pop out of the bushes with a big smile and say, 'Sorry I'm late.'" Clasping her hands together as if in prayer, she turned back toward the darkened bushes. "Tamahome, please come soon!" Tama-neko's ears perked up and he cocked his head. A faint rustling of leaves rose out of the silence, moving ever closer. Miaka turned toward the sound. "Tamahome?"

Spearpoints, sharp and glinting, burst forth from the darkness, halting just a hair's breadth from Miaka's face. Tasuki and Chichiri immediately dropped into a fighting stance as over two dozen heavily armed and armored Kutou soldiers appeared before them. Sneers of malice contorted their faces. Among them stood a tall and menacing warlord, also armored.

_Nakago,_  Chichiri thought. He'd know that vicious energy anywhere. Nakago glowered at the three followers of Suzaku, piercing blue eyes smoldering with an intense hatred. Next to him stood a thin blonde girl in a brown school uniform.

"It's been a while, Miaka," she said.

"Yui..."

"It seems like such a long time. You are looking well." Her words were cold and her eyes were as hard as the scales of the dragon-god, Seiryuu. She glared at the three of them in turn, but she seemed to save the most punishing of looks for Miaka. Behind her, the soldiers lowered their weapons and stood at attention, waiting for their general's next order.

Mouth agape, Miaka shook her head. "Yui... What are you doing here?"

"You idiot!" Nakago growled, taking a threatening step toward the priestess. "You made so much noise, you announced your own arrival!"

"Miaka, get back!" Tasuki darted forward and shoved Miaka backward, physically putting himself between her, Chichiri, and the Seiryuu. He reached over his shoulder and unsheathed the tessen from his back, bringing it forward with a vicious swing. "Rekka-shin-en!" he yelled, feeling the crackling heat of his celestial power flow into the iron fan. A bloodthirsty grin etched itself across Tasuki's face. Suddenly, the searing energy pouring from him ceased and the fire he'd expected never appeared. "Huh?!" The tessen sat lifeless in his hand. All color drained from him. It was just an ordinary weapon without its holy flame. Eyes widening in horror, he looked up and into Nakago's baleful stare.

"So, you're Tasuki." Nakago's voice dripped with smug malice, his thin lips twisted into a predatory smile. It was not unlike a snake sizing up a rat before eating it. "It's unfortunate that none of you can use your powers within the barrier I've summoned. Now then," he continued, passing his gaze slowly from Tasuki to Miaka and then to Chichiri, "who shall be the first to die? Or will you leave the decision to me?"

Yui stepped forward and placed a slender hand on his sapphire-hued vambrace. "Nakago, wait. Where's the fun in killing them right away?" she asked, never removing her hateful eyes from Miaka. A smile as harsh and merciless as that of her general's spread over her features. "We have guests so very rarely, why don't we entertain them?"

Burning contempt spread across his face and Nakago turned his head from her. His long blond hair only partially hid his disgust at his priestess' request. "As you wish," he said, mastering himself. He gestured to his soldiers. "Take them to the dungeon."

"Yui..." Miaka stared at the blonde girl, her brows furrowed in dismay. Opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water, she tried to form words that never left her throat. Blinking twice, she set her shoulders and seemed to come to a decision. Miaka glanced at Tasuki and Chichiri for a long moment before turning back to the Seiryuu contingent. Taking a deep breath, she growled and pushed past Tasuki as she launched herself at the nearest soldier.

"No, don't!" Tasuki yelled. He reached out to stop her, but it was too late. Next to him, he heard Chichiri gasp.

Miaka crashed into the surprised man's breastplate with her shoulder. Both hit the ground with a bone-shaking thud. The impact drove all air from her lungs. Bright flashes of light exploded in her vision. Taking a few shallow gasps, she twisted around to look at her warriors. "Chichiri, Tasuki, run for it!" she cried. Shaking off their surprise, the rest of the assembled soldiers began to rearm themselves.

A guttural roar worked its way up from the depths of Tasuki's chest, harsh and full of fury. "No!" He might die here, at the point of a Kutou spear, but he wasn't going to let Miaka sacrifice herself for his sake. Dropping easily into a fighting stance, fists and tessen at the ready, he prepared to take on all comers. "We won't leave yah!"

Rough hands seized her as the soldiers hauled Miaka bodily to her feet. Desperately, she sought out Chichiri's gaze. "Hurry!" She winced as her arms were pulled sharply behind her back. Chichiri wavered just long enough to see the fervor in his priestess' eyes. "GO!" With a curt nod, he firmly grabbed Tasuki's rage-tensed shoulder. He hurriedly chanted a few words and they disappeared.

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri had no idea where they would end up when he hastily teleported away from Nakago and the Kutou soldiers. The barrier Nakago had erected was much too strong for him to break alone. That meant they had to still be somewhere on the palace grounds. Jangling armor and marching boots filtered up through the canopy. He leaned slightly out over the branch on which he perched, using the leaf cover to conceal himself. Yet another patrol was combing through the dark gardens to find them. Chichiri frowned. If he could just get an idea of where they were... The sweet scent of hydrangeas wafted in with the slight breeze that ruffled the leaves above his head.  _Alright. We have to be close to where Miaka was captured,_ he thought. That meant that the palace compound itself couldn't be very far. If he could get into the general vicinity of the dungeon without being seen, it would be a simple matter for him to impersonate Nakago and walk right out with the priestess.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the moonlit gardens, stopping the patrol just below the tree in their tracks. "Where'd that scream come from?" the commander demanded, looking to each of his men in turn. When none of them answered, he growled and pointed back toward the torch-lit palace buildings. "Let's go, men!" The clanking of their armor as they marched away receded slowly until only silence remained.

"They're finally gone, no da," Chichiri sighed, slumping back against the tree trunk. They could relax for the moment and he let some of the adrenaline drain away. He didn't know how long they'd been forced to stay hidden, but it felt like an eternity. And all the while Tasuki silently glared daggers at his back. "What are you so happy about over there, Tasuki, no da?"

Tasuki sat a short distance away on another large limb, cross-legged and seething. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm pissed off!" he growled, arms firmly crossed over his chest. "I can't believe we just abandoned Miaka like that!" Waves of anger and frustration roiled out from him with a tangible intensity.

"What else could we do?" Chichiri shot back, dropping the light tone in his voice. He turned to fully face Tasuki. "With our powers knocked out and the barrier sealed tight, there's no way we could have won that fight."

Tasuki had to admit that Chichiri was right, but he surely didn't like it. He'd planned to die defending them, Miaka and Chichiri both, back there. A light breeze kicked up, stirring the treetops around them. The mat of leaves rippled just enough for patches of silvery moonlight to seep through and illuminate Chichiri's face. The perpetual smile that always seemed to grace his lips was gone, replaced with an all-too-serious frown.  _Nothin's goin' fuckin' right today..._ The bandit growled and threw himself backwards against the tree trunk. "So, whadda yah suggest we do now?"

"Wait here, suppress our life force, and move on when the time is right."

"We can't wait!" Tasuki shouted, sitting bolt upright. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. First, they run like cowards and hide, and now they should wait around while their priestess might be tortured or killed? "Are yah fuckin' nuts er somethin'?! We're here t' help an' if anythin' happens t' her, I'll never fergive myself!" Chichiri's expression didn't change and irritated him more than anything. "What kinda fuckin' plan–" he spat, and was promptly cut off.

"Don't worry," Chichiri said. It was only a matter of time before the guards returned and Tasuki's ranting wasn't helping. They needed to move, but he knew Tasuki wouldn't focus while he was still angry. That left only one option: he had to show Tasuki his true face. "They will not kill Miaka. I mean... No, I'm sure of it. The other girl will not let it happen."

_Holy shit..._ Tasuki's eyes widened in shock as he watched Chichiri remove the fox-eyed expression from his face like a mask worn at festival time. Underneath lay the same pale features, except where he'd previously had two eyes, he now had one: a deep, rich mahogany that stole Tasuki's breath. Chichiri's other eye was closed under a crisscross of scar tissue that ran across the bridge of his nose and forehead and down to his left cheek. There was more to this man than Tasuki had even imagined.

"I apologize for upsetting you," Chichiri said, dropping back into his familiar silly tone. His brows furrowed at Tasuki's increasingly uncomfortable stare. "But I had to make sure you understand that I'm absolutely serious, no da." He could feel his face flush under Tasuki's leer and he smoothed the mask back over his features. Tasuki wasn't angry anymore, that was certain.

A breath caught in his throat for a second before being exhaled in a shuddering sigh as Tasuki tried to regain his composure. "Yeah..." A scalding blush crept across his face. Turning his gaze out over the moonlight-dappled gardens, he tried to slow the beating of his heart in his ears. "Serious, gotcha."

Chichiri cleared his throat and continued. "We need to get close to the part of the palace that houses the dungeons, no da. If we can do that without being seen, I can impersonate Nakago and get Miaka out of there, na no da."

"Wait. What?" Tasuki whipped his gaze back to Chichiri. "Yah want us t' sneak in? No fuckin' way." They had already fled before the enemy once and he wanted no part of this skulking business. Real fighters didn't run away nor did they back down, even the in face of overwhelming odds. "If we come in swingin' with a straight-up attack, they'll never expect it an' we'll 'ave th' element o' surprise."

"There's no way we'll survive a full-on assault, no da. We'd be dead within minutes and Miaka, Tamahome, and the scroll would be lost as well, na no da." Chichiri crossed his arms and leaned back against the tree's trunk with a sigh. Tasuki was determined to fight him about everything: firstly whether or not he could come with them and now the best way to rescue Miaka. He couldn't quite tell if Tasuki was overeager about this mission, utterly reckless, or maybe suicidal. None of those possibilities made Chichiri particularly comfortable, but the thought of Tasuki rushing to his death with a smile on his lips bothered him to a degree he hadn't expected.

"Well, we sure as shit can't sit 'ere an' wait. Miaka needs us. Dead er not, it's better 'an doin' nothin'."

"Making sure we come out of this alive is not nothing, no da."

"Hidin' in th' fuckin' bushes an' creepin' around ain't my idea of a fair fight. We should get down there an' start bustin' some fuckin' heads."

"Have you forgotten about the barrier Nakago placed on our powers, no da? Even if we managed to free her,  **and**  get Tamahome,  **and**  find the scroll, how are we going to leave here, no da? Without our powers, I can't break the seal, na no da." Irritation settled between Chichiri's brows. It had been many years since he'd lost his temper or let his control of a situation slip to such a degree. Now, this brash teenager, through sheer obstinacy, had managed to incite both in one day. Yet, he had no idea why it angered him so much. Chichiri shook his head. They didn't have time for this battle of wills; the longer they argued about tactics, the greater the chance that some harm would befall Miaka or  _The Universe of the Four Gods_. Whether Tasuki liked it or not, he decided, he was going to put his plan into motion.

Glancing down through the branches, Chichiri took stock of their current situation. No patrols had passed nearby in some time, leaving the area around their tree unguarded. Gauging the height of the drop, he swung his legs over the side of the limb. He shot Tasuki a look over his shoulder. "Now is the time to move, no da. Join me if you wish, but I'm going to get Miaka, na no da." Quietly Chichiri pushed off and landed without a sound in the grass below.

_Dammit,_ Tasuki thought to himself.  _But I can't just let 'im go alone..._ With a growl, he too dropped from the tree, his jade necklaces clacking together with the force of his landing. He fixed Chichiri with an annoyed look. "Fine, fine. Yah win. We'll do it yer way, at least fer now."

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri crept up to the edge of the brick veranda, eyes darting right and left as he peered down the corridor. Torches burned along the building's length, the orangey light unsettling as it flickered off the blue-lacquered columns and walls. Above, the moon hung like an unblinking eye as it slowly sank toward the palace roofs. Nothing stirred around them, not even a breeze.  _No one,_  he thought, cautiously rising to climb over the stone balustrade. Dropping down into a crouch next to one of the large columns, he did his best to stay out of the direct glow of the torch. He heard the whisper of fabric and the soft click of boot heels next to him and knew Tasuki had vaulted the railing as well.

As far as he could determine, they were on the eastern side of the imperial complex not far from the shrine to Seiryuu he'd nearly destroyed during his last trip to Kutou. Still, Chichiri had no idea where the dungeons would be. The palace in Eiyou had a detention area, but it was small, only a few cells. Given the size of the Kutou army and how bold their assaults on the border villages had become in the last few years, their prison had to be massive, perhaps encompassing an entire building by itself. It was obvious their search would be time-consuming and labor-intensive if they had to search every structure.  _This would be a lot faster and safer if I assumed Nakago's image, but Tasuki is not going to stay put while I search, no da._  He hazarded a glance at Tasuki, just a hand's breadth away over his left shoulder. Perhaps he had a solution...

"I'm gonna take a look down th' corridor," Tasuki whispered. Rising to a half-crouch, he started off down the veranda. He moved quickly, trying to stay low and keep to the shadows.  _Fuck, I hate all this sneakin',_  he thought to himself. But, he had told the monk he'd cooperate with his plan, so he had to abide by that promise. Coming to the corner of the building, he leaned around it just enough to see another torchlit corridor stretch out before him. The veranda ran off into the distance until it intersected a perpendicular, but just as empty, portico.  _Where th' fuck is everybody?_  he thought. How could the palace be so empty when the grounds had been crawling with soldiers looking for them just a short time before?  _An' if everybody's gone, why th' fuck am I still crouched down like this?_  He stood up and shook his head, hair falling into his eyes as he contemplated their next move. Apparently, something had drawn all the servants and the entire garrison away. It smelled so much like a trap, but it could also be an opportunity. If they didn't have to keep to the bushes and side corridors to avoid confrontation, which slowed them down immensely, they might be able to rescue Miaka, find Tamahome, and get that scroll before the Seiryuu knew they were gone.  _I've gotta tell Chichiri..._

Tasuki turned back and his stomach leapt into his throat. Down the veranda he saw Chichiri gagged and bound to one of the columns. The monk squirmed under the tight hemp bonds, his brows drawn together in silent terror. Tasuki sprinted back down the tiled walkway, his coat rippling behind him. Each strike of his boot heels heightened his panic. What happened? How did he get tied up? Had they been discovered? Was he hurt? What do they do now? Questions swirled like a tornado in his mind. Suddenly, from behind another pillar stepped the familiar, loathsome shape of Nakago and Tasuki skidded to a stop mere steps from him. His heart pounded hard against his ribs. "You! Yah sonova bitch! Whad'd yah do to 'im?!" he demanded. Dropping into a fighting stance, he narrowed his eyes to slits. "If yah've hurt 'im, I swear I'll kill yah with my bare hands!"

"You're in no position to make threats, Tasuki," Nakago said with a smirk. The orangey torchlight picked out his talon-like shoulder guard in a sickly luster. He turned his piercing blue gaze to Chichiri. "You and your friend here will not elude me again."

"Damn you!" A growl rose from his throat as Tasuki sprang at the warlord, fist streaking past Nakago's head with a flutter of his blond mane. The punch missed by only a hair's breadth.  _Chichiri..._ He had to protect the monk, even if it meant his own life. Tasuki jabbed at Nakago's jaw, missing again as the taller man deftly stepped aside. "Stand still, yah bastard!" Tasuki growled, dropping to a crouch then leaping up like a coiled spring. Fist at the fore, he stretched out in a vicious uppercut that just barely missed connecting with Nakago's chin. Spinning on his heel, Tasuki swiped a long leg at Nakago's skull only for the man to duck seconds before impact. Hit after hit whizzed by its intended target. Tasuki snarled in frustration. He wound up to deliver a devastating right hook when his whole body froze. An unseen force held him fast, constricting around his body like a great invisible snake.

Nakago raised his right hand, a faint blue glow emanating from his palm. "I suggest you give up now. You can't win. Have you forgotten about the barrier I placed on your powers?"

Tasuki sputtered as Nakago shoved him into the column where Chichiri stood bound. How could he have been so naïve as to think that no one had still been looking for them?  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ How could he have let this happen? How could he have let Chichiri get captured, and by the worst possible person? He flinched as Nakago drew the coarse rope tight around his chest and legs. Maybe, he thought, his presence on this journey had doomed it to this failure. If he hadn't been so insistent, so determined to go... Pain blossomed in Tasuki's mouth as Nakago gagged him. His body sagged against the rope as the paralyzing spell that held him disappeared. Soft locks of scarlet veiled his stricken gaze as he traced the pattern of bricks in the veranda floor.  _What th' fuck 'm I gonna do now?_

"Now, stay put and I'll be back soon with Miaka, no da."

_Huh?_ Tasuki raised his head, brow furrowing.  _"_ _No da?" Only one person says that, an' 'e's right 'ere..._ Craning his neck, he saw that Chichiri stood tied as he was to the column. Yet, the monk wasn't fighting his bonds like he had been. He just stood there, motionless, like a statue.  _Wait a minute, how come 'e's not fightin' t' get free anymore?_ "Fhifhiwi? Ya ofay?" he asked, words distorted and muffled behind the gag. Chichiri didn't respond. His face was impassive, gaze focused out into the moonlit gardens. "Fhifhiwi?" What was wrong with him? Tasuki's eyes widened as his head whipped back to the blond man looking him over and he knew. The words from his conversation with Chichiri the previous night flooded back into his mind: _"_ _It's not too much trouble for me to assume the shape of someone I know or have seen before, no da. I can conjure pretty convincing illusions that most people can't distinguish from the real thing, na no da."_ "Noh faiwr! Noh faiwr! Dahn iht, Fhifhiwi!" The bandit threw himself against the rope holding him, yelling into his gag with little of the coherence he'd hoped for.  _Dammit, dammit, dammit! How th' fuck did I fall fer that?!_  he thought, angry that Chichiri had tricked him, but more hurt the monk hadn't trusted him.

_I'm sorry, Tasuki, I really am, but I couldn't risk us getting caught or you getting injured, no da,_  Chichiri thought to himself as he watched him struggle with all his strength. The hemp ropes creaked ominously but held firm. He turned from Tasuki and walked away down the corridor, each step punctuated by the redhead's muffled cries. Chichiri's borrowed blue eyes closed briefly with regret as he rounded the corner of the building and was gone.

\- o - o - o -

The ring of boot heels against brick-tiled floor reverberated through the oddly empty palace as Chichiri stalked through its halls in the guise of Nakago. Torches dotted the verandas he walked, their light periodically breaking the long stretches of duskiness. The moon sat nestled on the back of an ornately carved dragon running up the slope of a building's roof to his left like a rider straddling a wild steed. Time seemed to be moving at an accelerated pace since he, Miaka, and Tasuki had arrived in Kutou to find Tamahome and  _The Universe of the Four Gods_ , but the great silver eye had barely moved in its descent.

_Tasuki..._  He felt guilty for having deceived him, but if Tasuki had known that it was really him instead of Nakago, he would never have gotten away with the ruse. Tasuki's fighting skill had kept him on his toes and more than once he'd come close to being struck. He'd finally employed his paralysis spell when it was obvious he was no match for Tasuki's preternatural speed and agility. And he knew he would fight: for in the short time he'd known him, Tasuki had proven he wasn't the type to hesitate or to quail in the face of danger. Still, something about his words nagged at the back of Chichiri's mind: " _If yah've hurt 'im, I swear I'll kill yah with my bare hands!"_

Chichiri could understand that sentiment from Tasuki if it had been Miaka who'd been captured by Nakago since he'd seen him put himself between her and the general once already. It made no sense for Tasuki to feel that way about him. They'd known each other for little more than twenty-four hours. Tasuki's decidedly negative reaction to his plan the previous evening also seemed a bit excessive. He might not be a trained fighter, but Chichiri thought he could definitely take care of himself and Miaka well enough. Why would Tasuki be so anxious about his safety? Still, no matter how sincere Tasuki's desire to protect Miaka was, Chichiri couldn't let their mission here fail completely. Suzaku's summoning was far too important and the consequences of failure far too dire.

Kutou was preparing a full-scale invasion of Kounan, that much was clear. The country had been secretly amassing troops at the border of the empire, a direct violation of the peace treaty that was supposed to be in place. Chichiri had seen the burned-out villages and destroyed cropland himself in his journeys and, as Hotohori, he'd read reports of skirmishes and been briefed by terrified provincial governors. It was only a matter of time before the emperor of Kutou broke the treaty completely and sent his forces over the border en masse. If that happened, nowhere in Kounan would be free of fighting and the casualties, military and civilian, would be staggering. That thought alone steeled his resolve. He had to find Miaka, Tamahome, and the scroll and make it back to Eiyou as soon as possible.

Rounding the corner of a building, he entered an interior hallway of pale blue walls and heavy navy-colored wooden doors illuminated by lanterns instead of torches. Chichiri saw three soldiers at the end of the hall before him roughly escorting a young girl in a brown jacket and skirt. A small white cat with brown patches on its head and tail wove protectively around her feet.  _Miaka,_ he thought. His eyes narrowed as he walked toward them, watching how they grabbed her arm and pushed her forward even after she stumbled. "What are you doing there?" Though he'd meant only to feign Nakago's haughty, scornful tone, a lot of the anger in those words was his own.

Miaka gasped, brown eyes wide with terror at Nakago's approach. She took a small step back as the guards holding her let go and came to attention.

"Do you really need all these men to attend to one young girl?" he asked, looking down at Miaka. "While my preference would be to simply kill you right here, you are the Priestess of Suzaku." The corners of his lips curled in a predatory smile. The lanterns threw orange highlights into his blond hair. "A public execution will be much more useful to us."

He grabbed her wrist and pressed down on the back of her head with one vambrace-clad arm. "Aaaaah! Let go of me!" Miaka struggled hard against his overpowering force. She winced when her arm bumped her hip as he pushed her down.

"You may all return to your positions. I will take her to her chamber." The soldiers bowed low and scurried off to attend to their duties. Letting up his grip on her head, he pulled her along the corridor toward where he had left Tasuki. He tried hard not to be too rough with her, but didn't want to be too lenient either.

"Let go of me!" she cried, jerking her caught wrist this way and that. "I said let me go and I mean it!" Miaka threw her weight backward in what he imagined was an attempt to either knock him over or wrench herself free. She stumbled as he yanked her forward again. "I have to go back to see Tamahome! I have to talk to him again!"

"Go back?" he repeated, taken aback by her statement. "You still think he'll be waiting under the tree like he said he would?" Their mission was coming very close to complete failure: Miaka had been taken prisoner, he and Tasuki had been pursued by Kutou soldiers, and no one knew where Tamahome was. Yet, she still clung to the notion that if she just stayed under the tree, everything would work out? In a way, he sort of envied that kind of tenacity and faith, and it reminded him very much of Tasuki.  _In some ways, they are very similar, no da..._  "If you don't behave, there's no telling what will become of your companions, as well as yourself. Look there."

As they turned down the column-lined portico, Nakago pointed toward the bound forms of Tasuki and Chichiri, each squirming against the ropes that held them. Miaka gasped. "Chichiri! Tasuki!" she breathed, abandoning her attempts to break free, and instead rushed toward her warriors.

"Hold it." Nakago stopped her short with a jerk of his arm.

Miaka turned back to the tall general, her eyes wide. Mouth opening and closing in mute terror, she cowered as he raised his hand. His palm glowed with a menacing blue light. As his hand descended slowly toward her, she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Just kidding."

A gentle hand landed in her auburn hair. "Huh?" Opening her eyes, she looked at Nakago's kind smile with suspicion. "What, 'just kidding?'" Scrambling back a few feet, she pointed at him, her expression a jumble of fear, disbelief, and shock. "Stay away! What's going on here?!"

With a great puff of ivory smoke, the Nakago in front of her changed back into Chichiri, face graced with the same smile. "It's me, no da!" The fake Chichiri disappeared in another puff of smoke.

Tasuki glared at Chichiri as the monk walked to him and reached behind his head to untie the gag. The heady mix of sunshine, fresh air, and travel that was Chichiri enveloped Tasuki's senses and his outrage was temporarily forgotten. His eyes fluttered closed for a mere moment at the feeling of Chichiri's fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The man was close enough that he could hear his quiet breath in his ears and feel it fan hot against his face.  _Holy fuckin' Suzaku, this ain't fair,_  Tasuki thought. He took in an uneven breath at the brush of Chichiri's long blue bangs against his cheek and the closeness of his body. The blood singing in his veins and the heart pounding in his chest nearly overcame his anger, but not quite. "Chichiri, how dare yah just leave me 'ere tied up t' a pole!" he growled once his mouth was uncovered. He grimaced, his fangs visible, as he tried desperately to conceal just how aroused Chichiri's proximity made him.

Chichiri plucked the knots holding Tasuki bound apart with deft fingers. As the rope fell to the brick, he glanced back up and held Tasuki's glare without hesitation. "Well, you needed to believe it to pull the whole thing off, no da," he said with an impish grin. Turning his attention back to Miaka, Chichiri chanted a few words and resumed the shape of Nakago. "I look like him, don't I, Miak–" The girl backed away again, this time falling unceremoniously on her ass. Tama-neko jumped into her lap and licked her face as she sat, unresponsive.  _Maybe too much, no da. I dazed her._

Again returning to his own form, Chichiri crouched down next to Miaka. She held the cat to her chest as she regained a little of the color in her face. Tasuki joined them, taking up a spot just to Chichiri's left. "Don't scare me like that!" Miaka scolded. "I really thought it was him, and he can be risky business!"

"Yeah, sorry about that, no da," Chichiri said, his smile a mixture of amusement and regret. "But that disguise did help me walk into the palace without any trouble, no da." The whole mission thus far had been one terrible turn of events after another. Despite the brave face she put on, Chichiri knew Miaka was near her breaking point. If he could do just a little something to lighten her load or take her mind off it for awhile, he would. With a laugh, he turned into Nakago again and leaned down towards her with a deeply serious look in his eyes. "Can you forgive me, na no da?"

"Don't do that! You're scary!"

Tasuki rolled his eyes and smacked Chichiri on the shoulder. "Quit clownin' around, would'ja?" Chichiri finally returned to his own form, still chuckling to himself. Glancing down, Tasuki noticed a darkened wet area on the arm of Miaka's brown uniform jacket. "'Ey, what happened t' yer arm?" Curious, he touched it. Fresh blood came off on his fingers. An agonized yelp tore itself from Miaka's throat and she covered the injury with her good hand. He recoiled in stupefaction, staring at the slowly coagulating crimson on his fingertips. "Whad'd they do? Break yer fuckin' arm? It's been hurt real bad!"

"Miaka! Who did this to you?!" Chichiri demanded.

"N-nobody," she stuttered, a flimsy smile coming to her lips. "I just fell when I was escaping from the dungeon." She giggled weakly. "Anyway, we have to find Tamahome."

Chichiri and Tasuki exchanged a long look over Miaka's head. Tasuki nodded. Placing a gentle hand on Miaka's shoulder, Chichiri rose to his feet. "We should go back at once and have Mitsukake heal you, no da. But I'll go look for Tamahome, na no da." Once more donning the mantle of Nakago, he stalked off into the palace, indigo cape fluttering about his legs.

"Chichiri'll find Tamahome. In that disguise, 'e can go anywhere," Tasuki said, watching the older man walk away until he was out of sight.  _Be careful, Chichiri._  "I'd go with 'im, but you need help." His brows furrowed at the extent of the bloodstain on the jacket. "We hafta stop this bleedin', an' anyway, Nakago's spell's wiped me out." He rummaged through his coat pockets in search of something to bandage her arm with. If he'd just held on to the handkerchief he'd wrapped that cha shao bao in...  _Aha! There it is!_ he thought as she pulled a delicate pale yellow handkerchief from her skirt pocket and held it up to him. Taking it, he helped her to her feet, then tied it firmly around her upper arm to stabilize the injury. "Okay, this should do it fer a little while at least."

Miaka stared down at a little piece of paper in her hand, lips setting in a firm and determined line. Suddenly, she pointed off into the moonlit gardens. "Ahh!" she cried. "Nakago's doing a strip-tease for the troops!"

"Eh?" Peering in the direction Miaka pointed, Tasuki tried to figure out what she was talking about. If the Seiryuu general really was entertaining his troops that way, it would be quite a spectacle. The Kutou army definitely had some strange ideas about morale. Of course, if the Nakago in question was really Chichiri in disguise, that would definitely be worth it, he thought. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't see anything in the half-darkness. He stumbled as she shoved him into the pillar, the grassy scent of hemp filling the air as she tightened the rope around him. "What're yah doin'?!" He squirmed and fought against his bonds, watching as Miaka managed to tie a decent knot with one hand. "Why tie me up now?!" This predicament was getting tiresome. "If I said I liked it, I was just jokin'!"

She gave him a brief glance over her shoulder as she ran off down the empty portico. "Sorry, Tasuki," she called.

"Miaaakaaaa!"

\- o - o - o -

_Miaka's hiding something, no da,_ Chichiri thought as he walked through the deserted palace corridors.  _She didn't hurt_ _ **herself**_ _like that, no da. It's obvious someone did it to her,_ _ **intentionally**_ _, na no da_ _._ There was no way a girl of Miaka's stature could possibly crush her arm by falling down. Too much force was required for it to happen by accident, much less cause that much trauma. But who could have done it? He was certain that Miaka's friend wouldn't harm her; there was a bond between them that he could feel from the first moment she'd appeared during the fight in the shrine of Seiryuu. So, who then? Nakago? If that girl was indeed the Priestess of Seiryuu, would her seishi defy her wishes like that?  _I've got a bad feeling about this, no da._ The amount of blood on the arm of her jacket was excessive, and that was only what he could see on the outside. It was likely that even more blood had soaked into the arm of her blouse inside the jacket sleeve. Her injuries might be even more severe than he first thought.  _Maybe I should go back, no da..._ Turning the corner of an ornately adorned building, he entered another interior hallway.

"G-general?"

At the sound, Chichiri looked up and the pit of his stomach fell out. Before him, in the center of the corridor, stood Nakago addressing two of his soldiers as the blonde girl in the brown uniform looked on. He skidded to a stop, borrowed eyes wide with horror. The soldiers gaped openly at him.  _Oh no._  Chichiri's heart beat loudly in his chest, his body momentarily paralyzed by fear. The real Kutou general slowly turned around. Nakago's eyes were wide and his expression was one of genuine surprise.  _We are in big trouble, no da._  "Uh, sorry, can't stick around, no da!" Spinning on his heel, he sprinted back the way he'd come. He had to get back to Tasuki and Miaka before they too were found.

"Patrol! After that fake general!"

The rhythmic pounding of his boot heels against brick echoed around him, mixing with the ragged inhalation and exhalation of his breath. Blond hair streamed out behind him as he ran and his cape pulled at the cowl around his neck as it rippled in the wind. Nakago's appearance was slowing him down and even now he could hear the clanking of armor from somewhere close behind him. Chanting a few hasty words, Chichiri shifted back to his own form without missing a stride. The ring of hard-soled boots disappeared, replaced by the soft whisper of cloth, and he relaxed just a little. Maybe he could bypass the soldiers if they couldn't hear his approach. Reaching out a hand, he used one of the large blue pillars lining the balustrade as leverage to round a corner onto another veranda without slowing down. The palace was a true labyrinth. Corridors intersected and diverged at all angles while only the more widely used hallways were fully illuminated by torchlight. If he hadn't spent so much time walking the halls as Nakago, he would have been lost completely by now. Somewhere ahead of him, he could faintly hear Tasuki's voice.

"Get me outta here!"

Turning another corner, Chichiri saw Tasuki standing where he had left him. "Tasuki!" he yelled as he sped down the veranda, lungs burning. "Our cover's blown, no da! We've got to get out of here, no da!" Chichiri's bangs bobbed as he came to a stop in front of Tasuki. Tama-neko sat next to the column looking up at him. Miaka was nowhere in sight. "Now, where's Miaka, no da?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder toward the palace proper.

"She's th' one who tied me up like this!"

_What?_  Turning his gaze back to Tasuki, he finally noticed the hemp rope once again wrapped tightly around him. "Miaka did this?" He fumbled for the knot. His exhausted fingers were not nearly as adept as before. "And you just let her, or what?"

Tasuki gave him a dirty look. "I've said it a million times: I hate girls, they're cheaters, an' they don't play fair."

Chichiri sighed loudly. "Dummy, she outsmarted you, no da." He pulled the last bit of rope through the knot and began pulling it loose as fast as he could.

Embarrassment colored Tasuki's face a bright red.  _Yah've got no idea..._ "Shuddup!" Stepping out of the heap of rope, he massaged his elbows to get the blood flowing back into his extremities. "She headed in th' direction o' that tree. We gotta go find 'er right away! She's alone out there."

Taking one more look at the palace behind him, Chichiri started to climb over the balustrade they'd originally entered by. Tama-neko jumped up on the railing as well, using it as a springboard to Chichiri's shoulder, and wiggled into the soft folds of his kesa. "We should cut across the gardens, no da. It will be much faster this way, na no da." He didn't wait for Tasuki's reply before he jumped down into the moonlit bushes and started running again.

Tasuki growled in annoyance and vaulted the railing in one fluid motion. He landed in the grass just beyond the weigela hedge at the foundation of the portico.  _We sneak in here, now yah wanna run straight inta th' fight?_ Ahead of him, Chichiri kept to the ground, running under the tree cover. Dappled silver filtering through the canopy illuminated his lithe form in fits and starts as he raced through alternating patches of light and shadow. A smitten grin spread across his lips as he watched Chichiri get further away.  _Yer full o' surprises, ain'tcha?_  Pushing off from a crouch, Tasuki sprinted after him.

\- o - o - o -

They arrived in time to see Miaka, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-streaked, standing under the ancient oak. Small pieces of paper fluttered at her feet in the slight breeze that had kicked up. Before her stood a black-clad Tamahome, a set of wicked-looking nunchaku at his waist. "He's gone!" she wailed. Her knees looked on the verge of buckling from the uncontrollable sobs wracking her body.

Calmly, almost as if he wasn't moving by his own accord, Tamahome pulled the weapon from his sash, raising it above his head as if to strike. "Time to die." At his word's, Miaka's eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.

Chichiri veered to circle the scene from the right and yelled back over his shoulder. "Tasuki!"

"On it!" Tasuki leapt over the ring of hydrangeas into the clearing, body stretching out to scoop Miaka into his arms just before she hit the ground. A stinging pain bloomed in his head as he leapt again, this time away from Tamahome. Landing on his knees several paces past the tree's trunk, he grunted as something warm slid down the side of his face.

"Tasuki, are you alright, no da?" Chichiri ran over, dropping to his knees in the soft grass next to him. His fingers went reflexively to the gash at Tasuki's temple. Blood coated his fingertips as he gingerly touched the wound.

Tasuki inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. "Don't worry 'bout me, what about Miaka?" he said, focusing on the girl's pallid face. Drop after drop of dark crimson splattered on his sky blue lapel.

Removing his hand, Chichiri too looked down at Miaka laying still in Tasuki's arms. "Miaka, please say something to us, no da." Her chest rose and fell with each breath, but she didn't respond.

"She's unconscious. Well, I'm not surprised. She was hurt real bad." Tasuki's face twisted into a snarl, his voice a deadly rumble.  _This guy ain't gonna fuckin' get away with this._

Tamahome smirked at them from across the clearing. The tails of his cobalt headband waved in the breeze. "The Suzaku Warriors," he spat. "You saved me the trouble of looking for you." He took up a fighting stance, nunchaku held taut in front of him. "Now I'll destroy you once and for all!"

"Tamahome!" Chichiri shouted, brows furrowed. "Hey, what happened to you, no da?" How could he attack his allies?

" **You**  broke Miaka's arm, didn't you?" Tasuki lifted Miaka into Chichiri's arms and threw a sidelong glance over his shoulder at their supposed comrade. "Didn't you,  **Tamahome**?!" he growled. His shoulders shuddered with barely controlled fury. Pushing himself to his feet, he turned to face Tamahome fully. His eyes narrowed to slits. " **You**  did this t' her!"

"Tasuki! Settle down, no da!" This situation was spiraling out of control. There was some other force at work here than just Nakago. There had to be; there was no other explanation. And if Chichiri couldn't figure out what was happening, Tamahome and Tasuki might kill each other.

Tasuki ignored Chichiri and continued, taking deliberate, menacing steps toward Tamahome. "Not only 'er arm, you shattered 'er  **feelings**! How could you?!" Clenching his hands into fists, his knuckles turned white under the pressure. "After she looked forward so much t' seeing yah again, you went an' tore all 'er hope an' joy apart! There's  **no**  fuckin' excuse fer that!" Dropping into a fighting posture, he met Tamahome's challenge. "I'll never forgive you!"

"So, you won't forgive me, huh?" Tamahome sneered. "What are you going to do?"

"Tear you t' fuckin' pieces!"

The two warriors began to slowly circle each other, guards up, probing for any weakness in the other's defenses.  _Tasuki is seriously going to kill him, no da,_  Chichiri thought as he watched them square off. "Tasuki! Don't do it! Tamahome's a Suzaku Warrior too, no da! He's one of us, na no da!" Why was Tamahome attacking them? They were supposed to be allies, part of the god of the south's chosen. Try as he might, he couldn't feel any specific force controlling Tamahome's actions, only a pervasive malevolent energy.

"Yeah right! After what 'e did?! No fuckin' way! One o' us would  **never**  do that t' her!"  _Win er lose, I'm takin' him on._

With a roar, Tasuki launched himself at Tamahome, pulling back and delivering a powerful right as he flew at him, only to have it deflected by a forearm. Tasuki followed the movement, spinning to the left as Tamahome countered with his nunchaku, swinging one bronze-capped wooden handle at Tasuki's face. It slid harmlessly past as Tasuki dodged back, his jade necklaces jangling.

Using Tamahome's forward movement against him, Tasuki kicked, his boot heel barely missing Tamahome's cheek. Tamahome continued forward under Tasuki's outstretched leg. Seeing his chance, Tasuki brought his heel down with devastating force. At the last second, Tamahome threw himself backward and away, his thin ponytail fluttering. Tasuki dropped low, bringing his leg around in a swift arc at the off-balance Tamahome's ankles, hoping to knock him to the ground. Tamahome jumped to avoid it with a smirk.

Enraged, Tasuki sprang upwards, fist rocketing at Tamahome's face. He growled with fury as Tamahome dodged to the right with almost unearthly speed. Tasuki's body followed after his fist, leaving an opening for the other seishi. "Huh?" he breathed, eyes wide as he realized his mistake. "Uhhh!"

Tamahome kicked straight at Tasuki's chest, connecting with such intensity that Tasuki flew backward into the tree, barely missing Chichiri and Miaka. The tree's trunk shuddered with a deep and resounding crack. Flecks of blood spurted from his lips as the air was knocked from him, a sickening wet snapping sound coming from inside his chest. Splintered gray bark tore from the tree as he slid to the ground. His breath came in agonizing, shallow gasps. He couldn't tell how many, but at least one rib had been cracked with that hit.

_Tasuki..._ Chichiri gazed in rapt horror at the stream of blood trickling from the corner of Tasuki's mouth. It slid down his chin to land on the intricate embossing of the gold belt slung across his shoulder.

"That fuckin' does it. How  **dare**  you?!" Pushing himself up the tree trunk to standing, Tasuki spit a mouthful of coppery-tasting blood to the ground and wiped his lips with the back of his coat sleeve. It left a dark, scarlet smear across his jaw. He had to keep going, no matter the cost. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chichiri, still cradling Miaka. The monk's mask did nothing to hide the look of fear and concern on his face.  _Keep 'er safe,_  Tasuki thought.  _I won't let anythin' happen t' either o' yah._ A wry smile broke out across his features, blood again dribbling from his lips.

"Yah sure like wavin' those fuckin' toys around, don'tcha?" He reached over his shoulder and grasped the handle of the tessen. The cool iron felt comfortable in his hand. "If we're gonna fight with toys, then I'll use  **this**!" Bringing it around in a vicious arc, he was surprised as he felt the celestial brand on his arm flare to life, divine energy flowing through him into the weapon. "Rekka-shin-en!" he roared, a searing spiral of flame gushing forth like an inferno. Tamahome quickly dodged away, but the arm of his coat singed with the blistering heat. Pressing the advantage, Tasuki charged at him, pushing the ribs of the fan together for use as a makeshift dagger. "Now, yer mine!" Tasuki slashed savagely at Tamahome, forcing him back with the sheer ferocity of his assault. Tamahome ducked and dodged as fast as he could, the tessen's sharp edges slicing shallow cuts on his cheeks and forehead. Not quite ducking one of Tasuki's strikes in time, his headband was cut through.

Chichiri gasped as the cobalt fabric fluttered to the ground.  _The ogre symbol isn't appearing like it always does when he's in battle, no da._  "Tasuki, stop fighting, no da!" he yelled as the two fighters continued to exchange blows, iron ringing as it connected with wood. "That might be Tamahome, but it isn't Tamahome, no da!" He was certain now that someone had done something to manipulate their ally into fighting them. He still didn't know how they did it, or what they did, but it obviously wasn't a willing act. Tama-neko jumped down from Chichiri's shoulder, landing on Miaka's chest and licking her pale cheek.

Managing to regain the momentum of the battle, Tamahome went on the offensive, using his nunchaku as a bludgeon in one hand and trading punches with the other. Tasuki growled as he dodged back and forth. His cracked ribs were slowing his movements as pain began seizing up some of his muscles. "I...don't know what...yer...talkin' 'bout!" he shot back at Chichiri between blows. "Uhhhh!" He miscalculated the distance between himself and Tamahome and a fist slammed into his jaw, another spurt of blood flying from his lips. "Stop distractin' me!"

Sensing a weakness, Tamahome sprang at him and jammed his knee into Tasuki's diaphragm and ribs. Air blasted out of Tasuki's lungs as he fell to the ground with a heavy thud, an anguished groan wrenching from his throat. Tamahome pulled back and swung the nunchaku, its wooden handle streaking toward Tasuki's head.

Opening out the tessen once more, the bronze-clad butt of the weapon bounced off the iron fan, giving Tasuki a chance. He took the fan's handle in both hands. "Rekka-shin-en!" Another gout of flame burst from the tessen at near point-blank range. Tamahome leapt backwards, barely missing death in a blazing holocaust.

Chichiri looked down as Miaka began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered before slowly opening, the brilliance of Tasuki's fire bathing them in a ruddy glow. Even from this distance, the heat was sulfurous and scorching. As Tamahome landed several paces from the now-upright Tasuki, ready to begin the battle anew, Miaka fought her way to sitting against the weight of the cat on her chest. Tears rolled down her face. "No more! Tasuki! Oh please, stop!" She struggled against Chichiri's hold. "Please don't kill Tamahome!" Letting out a muffled groan, she went limp.

"Miaka!" Chichiri cried and tightened his grip. He managed to stop her from collapsing to the ground. In front of him Tasuki stood frozen, mouth agape.

"If Tamahome dies," she whispered, "if he dies, I don't know what I'll do." Her tears began to fall faster. Some soaked into the soft linen of Chichiri's sleeve. Her shoulders started to tremble. "I can't let it happen. No, don't do it!" She crumbled into a sobbing heap in Chichiri's arms.

With a smirk, Tamahome rushed at the distracted redhead, roaring with contempt as he sprang into the air for another damning kick to his chest. "Uh?" Tasuki whirled toward his attacker, throwing up his arms to guard just as the strike landed. He slid backward from the impact, falling to his knee with a grunt.

"Pay attention."

_I hafta let this fucker live?_  Tasuki thought to himself. Maybe this guy was their ally at one time, but he found it unbelievable that Miaka still wanted to protect him. The guy was trying to kill them. Chichiri's assertions that Tamahome wasn't acting like his usual self also confused him. There sure didn't seem to be anything wrong with his ability to fight, that was certain. But if this Tamahome was so important to Miaka, he figured he'd try to pull back a bit on his attacks.  _Yer a lot nicer 'an me, Miaka, that's fer sure._  He growled, spitting out another mouthful of blood, and grudgingly sheathed his tessen.

Eyes narrowing, Tamahome took up a defensive stance. "Now what are you doing?"

Tasuki bored into him with his gaze as he slowly pushed himself up. "I'm not afraid t' fight one on one with my bare hands." Clenching his fists, he once again dropped into a fighting posture. "Like a man," he spat, smiling wickedly as the insult struck a chord.

Tamahome charged forward with incredible speed, nunchaku drawn back to strike. Tasuki's pain-dulled limbs reacted too slowly and Tamahome hit home. The wooden handle slammed into the side of Tasuki's head, knocking him off balance. Tasuki lurched and fell to his knees once again, great splatters of blood flying from the force. As he bellowed in agony, hot crimson flowed down the side of his face and his right eye quickly swelled shut. Tamahome spun on his heel and delivered a sharp kick to Tasuki's chin, snapping his head back and driving him to the grass with a resounding crash.

"What's the matter, flame boy?" he asked, lips twisted in a sneer. "You through fighting so soon?" He ground the heel of his boot into the back of Tasuki's head. "Why don't you use your hands 'like a man,' huh? Well, I have no reservations about using  **my**  weapon." He raised his nunchaku high into the moonlit sky and began to rain blows down on the prone bandit.

"Tasuki," Miaka breathed. Each jangle of the weapon's bronze chain drew a wet thump-crack and a tortured scream. Dark blood splattered the silvery grass. "He'll be killed." She grabbed a fistful of Chichiri's tunic, wide-eyed with terror. "Chichiri, do something! We can't let him get beaten up like that!"

_Tasuki..._  He couldn't look away from Tasuki's blood-smeared face. A vast, shallow pool of crimson spread from under his head. It made him sick to admit that Tasuki was the only thing standing between Tamahome and the priestess. If he tried to help, whatever evil had turned their fellow warrior against them would turn its full fury on him and Miaka.  _It's just like that time..._

The circumstances were different, but the bitter helplessness he felt was exactly the same as during the flood, when he'd watched Hikou drown. No matter how desperately he'd reached for him, he could do nothing as his friend was swept away. And he could still do nothing. "Sorry, I can't, no da. And even if I could somehow intervene at this time, it wouldn't make any difference, no da."  _Please Suzaku, please don't let him die. Please don't let him die._

Turning back to the brutal scene, Miaka watched Tamahome yank Tasuki up by the hair and viciously kick him in the stomach. Blood sprayed from Tasuki's mouth and he landed hard on his knees. "Tamahome!" she screamed. "What are you doing?! Please stop hurting him!" Despite her cries, Tamahome slammed his fist into Tasuki's cheek. He smirked as more blood trickled from the other side of Tasuki's mouth.

Another kick connected with his chin, followed by another into his sternum, and Tasuki fell back hard against the tree trunk. His body was bruised and a good bit of it was broken. He couldn't keep up with Tamahome's relentless assault anymore. One of those attacks had broken his left arm and possibly also his left leg. Pain clouded all his senses, making every breath ragged, every step a torment. Copper-scented blood ran down his arm inside his coat, flowing over his hand and dripping off his fingers to the ground beside him.  _I hafta protect 'em. Give 'em a chance t' escape at least._

Tasuki laughed, a weak sound almost like a cough. "Yer not too fuckin' bright, are yah, buddy?" He slowly pushed himself up using the tree for support, his eyes holding Tamahome's gaze in an iron grip. "Yah thought I was out..." Drawing himself up to his full height, he smirked. "Not yet. It takes a lot fuckin' more 'an that t' keep me down."  _Suzaku, if yer listenin', let 'em get outta here in one piece._

"Oh really? Then it's time to stop playing around."

"Chichiri!" Tasuki shouted over his shoulder. "Get Miaka outta here  **now**! I'll buy yah as much time as I can!"

"We can't!" Miaka pleaded, still staring at the battle.

Forming a mudra with one hand, Chichiri began to chant. He had to take this chance; Miaka had to survive. The power of Suzaku began to flow through him, a bright, divine aura that expanded out around him and Miaka. Suddenly, a piercing blue light engulfed the fledgling red. Crackling energy exploded right next to them and Chichiri shielded Miaka with his body.

"It's him, no da!" He could feel a looming presence in his mind, a baleful life force he recognized right away. "He's around here some place, no da. The guy's a pain, na no da." Redirecting his focus, he chanted another spell and winked out of sight with Miaka and Tama-neko in tow. Just as they disappeared, Nakago materialized in front of Tasuki.

_This guy's a helluva lot more dangerous 'an Tamahome,_ Tasuki thought.  _If I can keep 'im busy, maybe Chichiri can find a way outta here._ "So, yah finally decided t' show yer fuckin' face. Well, I'm ready fer  **you**." Gritting his teeth and grasping the iron handle of the tessen at his back, he leapt at the blond. "I've been waiting!"

Nakago turned toward him, the celestial brand emblazoned on his forehead flaring blue. Tasuki howled as a shock wave of Seiryuu's power blasted into him, slamming him back to the ground in a crumpled heap. Tasuki tried to get back up but his vision clouded over as his eyes shut of their own accord. Darkness claimed him then, and he blacked out.

Looking down on the unconscious Suzaku Warrior, Nakago's lip curled in disdain. "Moron. I turned your fire power off. He was an annoying distraction, wasn't he?"

Tamahome just smirked.

Deep in the shadowy trees just beyond the ring of hydrangeas, Chichiri cradled Miaka close to his chest, hand over her mouth. "No! Tasuki!" she cried into his palm. Tears streamed down her face.

"Just hold it in, no da," he hissed. "We can't let Tasuki's sacrifice go to waste, na no da." When they'd teleported, Chichiri had felt a definite difference in the energy of the barrier around them. Nakago wasn't the only one using magic; at least one other spell caster was helping to seal the area and his celestial powers. That meant the Seiryuu Seven were gathering, and without the priestess having to search for them. He glanced at Tasuki's prone form, brows furrowing.  _Don't die. Please don't die._  Tama-neko jumped up into Miaka's lap and meowed at him. "You keep quiet too, no da," he whispered. Suddenly it hit him and he gasped.  _The cat! It's not a servant of Suzaku and it can perceive certain wavelengths that human beings can't, no da. Which might mean..._

"Your name's Chichiri, right?" Nakago called into the darkness. "You might as well give up. There's no way you can break out of this barrier." He scanned the silent garden, eyes narrowed.

_Let's hope this works, no da._  Placing two slender fingers on Tama-neko's furry head, Chichiri closed his eyes and began to chant. Warm life energy channeled down his arm and into the cat. Gradually, the cat's form began to pulse with a dull red light, washing out its features until only a scintillating cat-shaped portal to the Kounan palace remained. Through the gateway, he could hear the muffled voices of Hotohori, Nuriko, Chiriko, and Mitsukake, but his magic wasn't strong enough for him to see them. "Your Highness, no da! I'm using the cat's form to penetrate the seal, no da. I want you to try and break the barrier from your end, na no da."

Nakago turned to look straight at them through the bushes. "There!" Raising his hand, he shot a crackling bolt of Seiryuu's energy at them. It flew through the shrubbery, setting leaves and limbs aflame.

Hugging Miaka to him and grabbing Tama-neko by the scruff of the neck, Chichiri chanted quickly, watching the ball of chi slicing through the darkness at them. Miaka screamed and hid her face in his cream-colored tunic. Scorching heat and the smell of static electricity washed over them as they teleported away just as the bush they had hidden behind exploded in a ball of fire.

The deafening shriek cut through the blackness in Tasuki's head, bringing him back to the present and the agonizing throb of bloody wounds and broken bones. Blinding red-orange light burst into his vision. Craning his neck, he saw the bushes aflame as Nakago flung blast after blast of energy into the moonlit gardens. The acrid smoke from burning vegetation hung heavy in the air.  _Chichiri_ _.._ _. Miaka..._  Sheer force of will brought him to his feet, clotting gashes tearing open to pour crimson once again. "Stop it, yah fuckin' bully. You were...fightin' with me."

A cold bronze chain looped around his neck from behind, pulling tight with crushing force. He choked as the metal links dug into his Adam's apple. Instinctively, Tasuki tore at the garrote, white flashes of light peppering his vision as his windpipe was squeezed closed.

"Exactly," Tamahome said, constricting the nunchaku's chain even further. "And you were fighting with me, weren't you?"

Another blast destroyed the last bush Chichiri could easily teleport to and he tried to put himself between Miaka and the approaching Nakago. Behind the Seiryuu seishi, he could see Tasuki struggling to pull the chain away.  _Tasuki..._

"Now it ends." Swirling blue light coalesced in Nakago's raised hand and he smirked.

"I...I think this might be it," Chichiri breathed. He knew it was his duty to lay down his life for the Priestess of Suzaku, but he didn't want her to die this way: trapped in a foreign land with no hope of fighting back or of escape. He should have been more vigilant, more prepared, better able to protect her. The Warriors of Seiryuu were much more powerful than he had thought possible and, in hindsight, he was spectacularly unready for the level of resistance that met them. He should have forced her to stay in Eiyou with the others and gone alone. And Tasuki...  _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..._

From somewhere behind them, the strains of a familiar melody played. They were quiet at first but quickly rose in tempo until the song rang throughout the garden, echoing and reechoing off the trees. Miaka gasped. "The flute... Chiriko!" Brilliant vermilion light exploded around them, growing brighter with each note.

A warm and boundless affection suffused the moonlit palace grounds, enfolding Chichiri in its embrace as the power of Suzaku flowed through him. The celestial mark on his knee flared to life with the intensity of the sun. It shone even through the deep olive of his pant leg. "Now's the time!" Suzaku's radiance lit up his face as he shattered the chain around Tasuki's neck with a flick of his wrist. Tasuki fell forward and into the god of the south's unseen arms, hovering above the ground like a leaf caught in a spider's web. Chichiri summoned Tasuki to him with another quick mudra.

Nakago snarled, throwing bolts of energy, but with another wave of Chichiri's hand, Suzaku's power enveloped them and rendered the attacks useless. Reaching out to take his battered body, Chichiri sank to his knees under Tasuki's weight as the redhead floated down into his arms and came to rest in his lap.

"Tasuki! Tasuki, say something please!" Miaka cried as fresh crimson seeped from Tasuki's still-bleeding wounds, soaking into Chichiri's tunic and sleeves.

"You did a great job, no da. It's alright now, we'll be home soon, no da." Chichiri let out an uneven sigh of relief as Tasuki groaned and opened his golden left eye just a crack to look up at him. The same look Chichiri had seen in his eyes the night before was there again, just beneath the glassy deliriousness.

A weak, lopsided smile graced Tasuki's lips and he struggled to speak. "This always...happens...when...when I get...mixed up...with girls. 'Swhy I hate 'em." With a small exhalation, he passed out again.

Miaka gasped as his eye closed. Tears ran down her face once more. "Tasuki!" Taking a handful of his ebon coat in her slender hand, she shook his arm. "Tasuki!"

"He'll be alright, no da," Chichiri assured her. "He's just unconscious, no da." He could feel the rise and fall of Tasuki's chest against him and he looked down at his bruised face with a soft smile.  _Thank you._  Forming another mudra, Chichiri chanted the familiar incantation to send them back to Kounan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 2
> 
> **Cha Shao Bao** → Cantonese-style, barbecued-pork-filled, dim sum buns  
>  **Shakujou** → a Buddhist monk's staff topped by brass rings used for walking meditation and protection  
>  **Odango** → Japanese term for a bun or dumpling, it also refers to any bun-type hairstyle on women; in anime, it usually refers to the double bun style as worn by Miaka; in Chinese, the umbrella term for the bun style is "jiaoji," or "ox horns," and is a unisex style  
>  **Mudra** → symbolic or ritual hand gestures used in Hinduism and Buddhism


	3. Endless Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Kutou trip, Chichiri begins to question his decisions.

Chichiri wrung out the corner of his tunic into the metal bowl. Soapy, reddish-pink water rippled in the bronze basin, the yellow lantern light giving it a vaguely orange color. Even after three thorough scrubbings, the blood had yet to come completely out. He stood bare-chested but for his prayer beads over the wooden table in his chambers trying to wash out his tunic after returning from the abortive trip to Kutou. Pouring more clean water over the linen from the basin's matching pitcher, he began again. He rubbed the small ball of honey locust soap over the stain and scrubbed the material together in his hands. Getting the blood out of his kesa had been easier; the navy wool hid discoloration much better than ivory linen. Glancing up, he gave it a wry look as it lay rolled in a towel on the dark wood of the table. He turned his attention back to his shirt and continued working.

_Kodoku..._  Chichiri frowned. Mitsukake had told Chiriko, Nuriko, and him at their audience with Hotohori that Tamahome was probably under the influence of kodoku. If that was true, there was very little they could do. He'd not seen the effects of the drug firsthand, but he'd heard stories about it in his travels. Very potent and almost impossible to counteract, it allowed a skilled sorcerer to essentially remake someone's personality as they saw fit. The use of a drug like that would explain Tamahome's transformation into a warrior of Kutou, but why drug him? If the Seiryuu wanted to prevent Miaka from summoning Suzaku, killing him would have been more efficient. The only plausible reason for going to this length was that someone was trying to inflict as much pain on her as possible. For as much as her friend, Yui, purported to hate Miaka, it was unlikely that she could have thought of this. The girls were both from the other world, so there was no way either of them would know what kodoku was, much less how to use it. That left Nakago.

He'd felt Nakago's malicious spirit as he'd tried to break through the wards to escape Kutou. But why would he go to the trouble of drugging Tamahome? There was no reason for him to do it, unless he was being directed by someone with authority over him. That could only mean the emperor of Kutou or the Priestess of Seiryuu. And if the latter was the case, that would mean that the girl had become the Priestess of Seiryuu through her own free will. Chichiri sighed.  _This just compounds the problem, no da._ Picking up the bronze pitcher by its intricately sculpted handle, he rinsed the thick pink lather from the material and his hands.

He blamed himself for their failure to retrieve Tamahome and the scroll. Miaka had insisted on going, to rectify her mistake in letting  _The Universe of the Four Gods_  fall into Kutou's hands. He could have refused and traveled there alone, but he decided to let her go and follow along as a watchful guardian. Perhaps it was the deep and abiding love she had for Tamahome that swayed him. During their conversation through the screen in his room, Chichiri could tell just how deeply they felt about each other. He being Miaka's loyal warrior and she being his priestess aside, how could he keep two people that devoted to each other apart?  _Now they're separated even further, no da._

He'd grossly underestimated the power of their enemies and she'd been injured in more ways than one. Miaka had tried to seem upbeat when Hotohori, Nuriko, and he had stopped by to check on her after Mitsukake had healed her arm, but it was obvious she was just putting on an act. He knew why: her heart was broken, but she didn't want to burden any of them with it.  _I can understand that, no da._ He thought back on his own pain at losing his family, fiancée, and best friend in one night and the years of private suffering that followed. But she couldn't keep all that sadness bottled up inside herself. He knew all too well how that torment could consume someone's soul until the only thing left was a desire to die.

The plink of water droplets into the basin increased as he again wrung out the soaking tunic. The linen was still tinged pink, but the stain was only barely visible now.  _Once more then, no da._  He reached for the honey-scented soap and resumed washing.

_Tasuki..._ His mind turned to the reckless, courageous redhead who had saved their priestess from the enemy and a certain death. He still didn't understand quite why Tasuki had wanted so badly to join them on their ill-fated mission, but he owed him his life. If Tasuki hadn't been with them, he knew that Miaka and he would never have made it out of Kutou alive.  _But if I had been more prepared, this might never have happened, no da._ Chichiri sighed again, brows furrowing.

He hadn't been covered with that much blood since he'd lost his eye, and this time it wasn't even his own. The extent of the hemorrhaging was staggering and it was only after Mitsukake had taken Tasuki's unconscious body from him that he realized just how close to death Tasuki had been. He had seen Chiriko staring at him in horror and, looking down, he himself paled to find his tunic red from hemline to chest and his sleeves from cuff to elbow. The shocked and slightly disturbed look Hotohori gave him and his shirt during his debriefing only made him feel guiltier about letting Tasuki take the brunt of Tamahome's and Nakago's hatred.

Wringing the garment once more, he shook it out and appraised his work in the light of the lantern above him. The stain had disappeared as well as he could make it. Though, his tunic would never be as crisply ivory-colored again.  _A small price to pay toward the debt I owe him, no da._

Hanging the damp shirt over a rosewood chair next to him, he used the remaining clean water and soap to wash away the bloody residue that had soaked through his clothes. A few stray droplets of water slid down his stomach to be absorbed into his waistband. Drying himself off with another of the small towels the chambermaid had left that morning, he grabbed the bronze basin and opened the heavy wooden door of his room.

Light spilled from the open doorway like a knife cutting into the darkness. The fresh, earthy scent of warm summer rain hung heavy in the air. He walked across the veranda running just outside his room to the wooden balustrade and emptied the soapy water over the side into the shrubbery below. A pleasant breeze blew in over the rainy palace gardens, bringing the sound of crickets with it. He took a moment to look out over the quiet imperial buildings and porticoes. Somewhere across the gardens, just under the soft patter of raindrops and the chirp of insects, he heard Chiriko's flute and smiled wistfully.

Turning to return to his room, Chichiri heard a set of footsteps approaching from down the brick-tiled walkway. He looked up to see Mitsukake. Tama-neko lay perched on his shoulder, head resting atop his forepaws. "Good evening, Mitsukake no da," he said as the big man walked up and into the strip of light coming from the open doorway.

"Good evening, Chichiri." Mitsukake stopped a few steps away. In his hands was the wooden box in which he carried his medicinal herbs. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. Just trying to wash out my clothing, no da," he replied. Gesturing to the box, he cocked his head. "I take it you've been to see Tasuki, no da?"

The tall healer smiled. "I have." Tama-neko mewed at Chichiri, slowly swishing his furry tail.

"How is he, no da?"

"He had enough energy to curse at me as I bound his wounds, so I'd say he'll be fine."

Chichiri chuckled at the thought of Tasuki putting up a fight as Mitsukake tried to attend to him. "That's good, no da. Is he well enough to have visitors, na no da?"

"I've just administered a decoction for the pain he's feeling, but I think that would be alright," Mitsukake said. The tails of his headband fluttered in the damp breeze. "Well, I should be going. Have a good night, Chichiri." Mitsukake nodded before continuing on down the veranda. Tama-neko looked back over the big man's shoulder at Chichiri as if to say good-bye before settling back down to sleep.

"You too, Mitsukake, no da." Returning to his room, Chichiri put the basin down on the table with a metallic thunk.  _If he's awake, I should go see him, no da,_  he thought.  _I owe him that much, no da._  He slipped on the still slightly damp tunic, tying it closed and belting it at his waist. He unrolled the kesa from the towel and clasped it over his shoulder. Pulling his prayer beads and ponytail out of the collar of his shirt with a sharp clack, he strode out into the night, closing his door behind him.

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri's soft shoes made little more than a whisper against the ancient brick of the veranda, empty despite the evening's early hour. Given the faint strains of flute music he still heard echoing through the palace grounds, he imagined that Chiriko was playing for Hotohori, and Nuriko wouldn't be far from the emperor's side. Miaka was most probably still asleep in her room. The peaceful atmosphere brought a heavy-hearted frown to his lips.  _If only it could stay this way, no da._ Kutou would not ignore Kounan's incursion into their territory, and the Seiryuu would soon make their move. War seemed more and more inevitable. With Tamahome's loss, not to mention the scroll's, summoning Suzaku was out of the question.

Sighing, he put those sobering thoughts out of his mind as he stopped before the heavy wooden door to Tasuki's chamber. He knocked softly before pushing open the door and stepping inside.

"Tasuki, no da?" he murmured as his eyes fell on Tasuki's bandaged form lying amid tangled sheets and upset pillows. The blood had been washed away by someone, perhaps the royal attendants that had assisted Mitsukake, or maybe even the healer himself. Linen bandages bound Tasuki's chest, his gashed temple, and his swollen right eye. His left was closed as if in sleep, but Chichiri knew he wasn't from his shallow breathing. Splints encased his left arm and leg. A network of bandages held the wooden boards tightly in place. The pungent pine of amur cork and the light, dusty-citrus scent of frankincense in what he assumed was liniment enveloped him as Chichiri came closer to the bed. His breath caught in his throat as a languorous, golden eye met his own.

"Chiri," Tasuki drawled, a lazy smile on his lips. His entire body floated on an analgesic current; he didn't even care if Chichiri saw him in such a wretched state. He eyed Chichiri affectionately as the man sat quietly on the chair at the bedside. "Yah come t' see th' damage?"

"You've looked better, no da." Chichiri let his mask smile for him as he studied the deep maroon of dried blood beneath the layers of bandages ringing Tasuki's chest. He wasn't really prepared to see the extent of Tasuki's injuries, even though Chichiri knew how bad they were from the amount of blood that had been on his tunic.  _This is my fault..._ A furrow began to form between his brows.

"An' I've felt better, too, but this stuff Mitsukake's got me on ain't bad," Tasuki replied, satisfied with the faint chuckle he managed to get out of him. He decided Chichiri's pale features were even more attractive when he laughed, despite the mask. "But yer alright, right? No injuries?" Tasuki shifted himself closer to the edge of the mattress and toward Chichiri. The cotton sheets slid up his bare thighs as he moved.

Chichiri shook his head. "No, no. I'm fine, no da."

"That's good." Tasuki inhaled deeply and nestled farther into his pillows. He gazed at Chichiri with a mixture of tenderness and sedation. All Tasuki wanted in that moment was to curl up next to him and sleep away the drugs in his system. Nothing else mattered: not the kingdom, not Suzaku, and not even the lack of proper locks on the doors.

A heavy silence fell over the two men for a long while. The patter of rain in the courtyard outside found its way in through the openwork lattice windows along the right-hand wall of the room. The slight breeze that accompanied the sound made the lantern light flicker. Ever-shifting shadows danced about the small chamber, casting a cozy atmosphere on its quiet inhabitants.

Chichiri rested his hands on his knees, the corners of his mask's perpetual smile raising and lowering as he tried to figure out how to apologize. His mistake had jeopardized Tasuki's life. Yet, Tasuki hadn't said one word about his injuries. His only words were of concern for him. Chichiri didn't know what to think about Tasuki at this point: he'd actively sought him out just to talk to him, refused to listen to his wishes or advice, and bravely and tenaciously defended him and Miaka almost to the point of his own death. It was apparent that Tasuki wanted his friendship, but could he give him that?

He held Tasuki's glassy look for some time before looking down. He traced the wrinkled sheets falling over the edge of the bedstead with his eyes. "Tasuki–"

"Whatever yer gonna say, save it."

"But–" Chichiri tried again, only to be silenced once more.

"Don't worry 'bout it." Tasuki chuckled to himself at the dumbfounded look on Chichiri's face. He wondered what expression he'd see if he kissed him. "Yah just owe me a few... favors," Tasuki replied, giving him the best roguish grin he could manage. His hair spread around his bandaged, yet flushed, face like a halo.

"Oh really, no da?" Chichiri shot back, raising an eyebrow.  _What exactly did Mitsukake give him, no da?_

"Yah don' think I'd let my ass get kicked fer nothin', do yah?" Tasuki stretched his uninjured arm and let it fall gently to the pillow in a curve over his head. Very little of his lithe body was covered by the sheets at this point and it only served to accentuate his seductive position.

Chichiri shook his head in incredulity and smiled, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. "Perhaps I should leave you to get some rest, no da," he said and rose to leave. He gazed down on Tasuki's supine form, brows furrowed, and sighed. The redhead sprawled over the bed, his lashes brushing the top of his cheek, almost as if he was on the very edge of slumber. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow, Tasuki, na no da." He turned away and started for the door, only to be halted by a warm hand on his bare wrist. Chichiri turned back in surprise, looking down at the hand and then up at Tasuki.

"I wouldn't let yah die," Tasuki said quietly. The deep tenor of his voice resonated in his chest to produce a soft rumble. Fixing him with a steady, languid look, Tasuki softly stroked the inside of Chichiri's wrist just above the heel of his hand with his thumb. He could feel the tendons in Chichiri's hand tense at the touch. When he was satisfied he had heard him, Tasuki let go and watched as Chichiri left the chamber, closing the door with a soft thud.

\- o - o - o -

_Driving rain poured from the leaden sky, gale-force winds kicking the river up into a rushing torrent. Uprooted trees flowed down the churning waterway in between the broken wreckage of houses. Blinding bursts of lightning rent the clouds as deafening thunder shook the ground. He raised the knife, silver blade flashing in his hand, and brought it down into the other man's shoulder. Blood splattered from the wound onto his sleeve, his face twisted into a snarl of rage._

_The other man cried out as dark crimson flowed down the front of his robe, his own hands clawing desperately at the weapon. "Why?!" he screamed in rage, wrestling for control of the knife with the other man. "Why did you betray me, Hikou?!" He forced Hikou back, toward the river's edge. Behind him, another building crumbled into the raging waters. "Give her back! Give her back to me!" Wrenching the blade away, he slashed at Hikou's cheek, carving a deep gash across his tanned skin._

_A brilliant blast of lightning lit up the sky like the sun. Hikou staggered backward in the blinding light, bleeding and fighting for his life. Under his foot, the saturated ground gave way. "Houjun!" he cried as he fell into the seething river, dark eyes pleading in horror._

_Houjun dropped the knife and grabbed onto Hikou's wrist, holding on for all he was worth. Hikou tried to bring his injured arm out of the water to grab Houjun's hand, but the rushing water was too fast. Suddenly, a shattered tree trunk borne by the raging river slammed into Houjun, gouging out his eye and loosening his grip on Hikou's wrist._

" _Help me, Houjun!" Hikou screamed as the torrent pulled him away from the riverbank, crashing waves breaking over him._

" _Hikou!" Covering his damaged eye with one hand, Houjun reached for Hikou but it was too late. Burning scarlet hemorrhaged from between his fingers. Hikou's broken, lifeless body floated away down the river in a crush of debris. Houjun screamed, blood flowing down the front of his robe, the pain in his head and his heart too much to bear. He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the riverbank. "Hikou!" Stepping off the crumbling bank, he fell toward the churning, muddy waters and closed his remaining eye._

_Just as he hit the water's surface, a hand grabbed hold of his wrist in a warm, vice-like grip. It pulled him up onto the riverbank and away from the edge. Houjun coughed and choked, spitting up the river water that had entered his lungs. He lay sprawled on the grass in the pouring rain, his cerulean hair stuck to the sides of his face by blood and water._

_The same hand that had plucked him from the river hauled him up and into a tight embrace. Two arms held him close to a strong chest. A steady heartbeat pulsed under his ear and all around him he could smell leather. Houjun struggled to look at this person who had saved him, coming face to face with two golden eyes that gazed at him from under a curtain of fiery red hair. The man's lips curved in a smile._

" _I told yah I wouldn't let yah die."_

" _Tasuki," he breathed._

Chichiri opened his eye with a start, heart racing and dripping with sweat. He stared up at the shadowy, coffered ceiling above his bed. He had no idea what time it was, though he figured it must be close to dawn. The room was still mostly dark: faint ambient light streamed through the openwork lattice windows above his head on the wall next to him. Rain continued to fall outside; he could hear the muffled, constant splash of raindrops on the tiled roof. Sometime during the night, the rain and wind had picked up.  _What was that?_  he thought to himself.

The dream had replayed almost nightly for six long years. He was supposed to die; that's how it was supposed to end and how it always ended. So why had he dreamt of Tasuki saving him? He pushed the tangled fabric of his kesa off his chest and sat on the edge of the modest bed. The embrace seemed so vivid, so real, and he could still smell the leather of Tasuki's coat and hear the beat of his heart.  _Could my conversation with him last night... No. Other conversations have found their way into my dreams over the years but never into that dream,_ he thought, running a hand through his damp hair. The last words Tasuki had said to him the night before came back to his mind:  _"I wouldn't let yah die."_ Gently, he ran his fingers over the spot on his wrist where Tasuki had held him, remembering his soft touch and the way he'd run his thumb over his pulse point.  _What does this all mean?_

Chichiri sighed and rose from his bed. Perhaps this connection he felt was more significant than he'd realized.  _Especially if he's now turning up in my dreams, no da._ Changing out of the white silk tunic and pants the chambermaids had given him to sleep in when he first moved into the guest palace, he re-dressed himself and put his mask back on. Taking up his kesa, he shook out the wrinkles and clasped it over his shoulder. Breakfast wouldn't be served for another few hours, but he knew he wouldn't be able to return to sleep.  _Maybe a walk would help, no da._ Leaving his room, he quietly closed the door and started walking.

\- o - o - o -

He wandered along quiet, empty verandas and porticoes, down deserted hallways and corridors. Dark clouds covered the sky and the rain still did not let up. It ran between the tiles on the ornate roofs to the ground like tiny waterfalls. Vast, shallow puddles rippled with raindrops between the formal planting beds of the gardens lining the veranda he walked. A clear, moist, almost cool breeze blew in across the soaked landscape. A lone sentry marked his passage with a gracious bow. Chichiri would never get used to the royal courtesy he was shown in the palace. Such hospitality and regard was something he would almost shun were he not forced to accept it as part of being a celestial warrior.

As the eldest member of the Shichiseishi, he couldn't shy away from his role as advisor and strategist. As emperor, Hotohori needed his counsel now more than ever. With Kutou beginning to actively foment war, the Seiryuu Seven gathering if not already together, and Miaka's fragile state of mind, the young monarch was faced with some very crucial decisions. Chichiri didn't know how to summon Suzaku without  _The Universe of the Four Gods_  or missing one of their number, and he was fairly certain Hotohori didn't either. Plans to return to Kutou had crossed his mind, but he didn't think that approach was wise and he knew Hotohori wouldn't have the stomach for it.

The sky had lightened just slightly to a dull and deep gray, the only sign of the first rays of the weak morning sun behind the thick curtain. He continued down the portico. He was curious but not surprised that no one appeared to be up at this early hour. With the frantic pace they'd kept since the last three Warriors of Suzaku had been found, it was only natural that everyone would be exhausted.

Two low-burning lanterns flanked the sculpted bronze-clad doors of the harem's palace ahead of him. Their light flickered in the breeze, illuminating the metal reliefs with constantly moving highlights and shadows. As he came to the palace's entrance, he stopped short as a door opened and a petite, silk-robed figure walked out.

"Oh, good morning, Chichiri," Nuriko said, nearly running into the older seishi. His amethyst braid slid off his narrow shoulder to hang down his back. He smiled brightly despite the weather. "You're up early."

"Good morning, Nuriko, no da," Chichiri replied, smiling himself at the courtier's good humor.

Closing the door behind him, Nuriko motioned for Chichiri to follow. The two men strolled down the quiet corridor toward the main palace. Both were happy for the moment of tranquility the dark, rainy morning afforded. In their own ways, neither of them had felt very easy about the events of the last few days.

"So, what brings you down to the harem's palace, hmm?" Nuriko winked conspiratorially, then clasped Chichiri on the shoulder with a giggle.

Chichiri chuckled at the joke. "I couldn't sleep," he said, "so I thought I'd take a walk, no da." Chichiri appreciated this opportunity to talk to Nuriko. He didn't see much of him around the palace except for at meals, though Nuriko did attend those with almost flawless punctuality.

"Ah, me either. All this rain is just awful." Nuriko cast a glance out into the drenched gardens. "And it sure won't do anything to cheer up Miaka. At least if it was sunny, then maybe we could go to the marketplace for a bit and try to take her mind off of Tamahome." He frowned at the thought of Miaka cooped up in her room with nothing to do but think about her love's betrayal and cry.

Frowning himself, Chichiri remembered the girl's harsh words to Hotohori the previous afternoon and the emperor's hasty retreat. It was painful to watch the people around him, his friends and comrades, replaying his old mistakes. "Do you think she'll be joining us for breakfast this morning, no da?"

"I'm not sure, but I doubt it. We should probably just let her sleep and I'll take her something to eat in her room."

"I see. That's a good idea, no da."  _It probably is best to let Miaka rest, no da._ Perhaps a good night's sleep would help her to heal. "By the way," he asked, looking over at Nuriko, "do you know where we're eating this morning, no da?"

"I would assume Tasuki's room, since the big idiot can't walk."

_Tasuki..._  Chichiri was relieved that his mask hid the faraway look on his face as he thought about the dream again. The look in those eyes was the same he'd seen there the night before the mission to Kutou and again just before Tasuki had passed out in his lap. That together with the tangible warmth of the embrace in his dream and the intimacy of Tasuki's hand on his wrist gave Chichiri much reason for pause. Respect and camaraderie didn't seem to describe his feelings about either of these developments. Yet, he knew that something had changed between them.  _What is it about you, no da?_

"I am glad that Tasuki's going to be okay though. He was a mess when you brought him back," Nuriko admitted, noticing Chichiri's lack of response.

"He's very lucky, no da," Chichiri said at last. "Tamahome didn't pull any punches during that fight, na no da."

The conversation slacked off to silence. The constant rush of water on the roofs and trees was the only sound apart from their footsteps. Dawn came and went, the vague brightening yet again of the overcast sky and the faint ringing of the morning bell the only indication of its passing. A pair of guards hurried by to their posts for the daybreak shift change. They bowed to the two seishi as they went.

Nuriko glanced at Chichiri as they walked and watched him look out over the gardens. The smile on his face never changed, but Nuriko could tell he was deep in thought. He knew Chichiri had to have been shaken by Tasuki's condition; he saw the amount of blood soaking the monk's tunic as the attendants carried Tasuki out of the throne room on a litter and the look of shock engraved on Chichiri's face. Something like that would undoubtedly unnerve anyone, Nuriko thought, but he hadn't been the one who'd held the redhead as he slowly bled out in his arms.

"Well, it looks like the sun's up, if you can call it that," Nuriko said, breaking the long silence. "I suppose I'll go see if the cooks have breakfast ready yet. Why don't you find Mitsukake and Chiriko and I'll meet you in Tasuki's room?"

Chichiri's eyebrows raised. "Is His Highness not joining us this morning, no da?"

"No. His Majesty is meeting with a delegation from Jusou province today."

_Jusou province..._   _That's the area along the Kutou border, no da._ Chichiri thought back to Hotohori's absence from the court and the audiences he'd attended in the emperor's guise. The governors of several of the provinces on the eastern border of the kingdom had come to plead for assistance against Kutou's cross-border raids. At the time, his hands were tied since he was just pretending to be Hotohori and had none of his authority. Apparently, another delegation had been sent almost immediately after the first one, unsuccessful in its request, had left Eiyou.  _The situation must have gotten much worse since then, no da._  Time was running out to summon Suzaku. "Hmm. Alright, I'll get Chiriko and Mitsukake and head to Tasuki's room, no da."

The two men parted ways in front of the heavy bronze doors to the main palace just as the morning bell rang for the one-hundred-eighth time.

\- o - o - o -

"So, how do you feel this morning, Tasuki?" Mitsukake asked as he added some roasted pork and green onion slices to his bowl of congee. Next to him, Chiriko reached across the table for the sliced ginger.

The five men sat talking and eating around a modest wooden table in the center of Tasuki's lantern-lit room, meal laid out before them in porcelain vessels of all shapes and sizes. Bowls of toppings for the rice porridge sat next to dishes of youtiao torn into small pieces. Another plate loaded with zhongzi wrapped neatly in bamboo leaves steamed next to a dish of pan fried noodles. A slight breeze wafted in through the room's open doors, the full force of the wind blowing harmlessly past down the veranda outside. The gentle movement of the air wafted the delicious aroma of breakfast around the room.

"Eh, alright I guess. Th' unbearable agony's down t' a halfway-tolerable agony now," Tasuki replied and took a bite of his noodles. And it was true: whatever the medication was that Mitsukake had given him the night before had dulled the edge of the pain in his limbs better than he thought it would. Putting down his chopsticks, he picked up his teacup and took a drink. Chichiri sat to his right though he couldn't see him with the bandage around his swollen eye. The proximity of the monk to him brought a smile to his lips and a giddiness that he tried hard to suppress. "Any o' you guys know how Miaka's doin'?"

To Tasuki's left, Nuriko held up the teapot to Chiriko. "Tea?"

"No, thank you." Chiriko dipped a chunk of the fried dough into his congee. Shrugging, Nuriko poured himself another cup.

Chichiri untied the string holding the bamboo leaf around the small rice ball and, pushing the leaf to the side, took a piece in his chopsticks. "I think she's still asleep, no da." He was glad to see Tasuki was feeling better and moving around a bit on his own, but he couldn't shake the strange feeling he'd had since he'd awoken.

"And we should let her sleep. She's been through a lot lately," Nuriko said, reaching across to take a zhongzi and a few chopstickfuls of noodles.

Mitsukake stirred the pork and onions into his porridge and took a few bites. "I agree. Time is the only thing that will really help to heal her wounded heart."

"And food," Nuriko said. He smiled faintly at the subdued chuckles from the other men. "I'm going to take her some after breakfast."

"I think she'll like that." Inside Mitsukake's coat, Tama-neko stirred from his nap and stuck his head out to sniff at the pleasant scent of food. Looking up, he meowed at Mitsukake in supplication. With a smile, Mitsukake took a piece of pork from the bowl and held it out to the hungry cat. Purring loudly, Tama-neko devoured the meat and moved to where he could look out of Mitsukake's coat and stare at the meal in hopes of another treat.

"I can't believe Tamahome's been given kodoku." Chiriko nodded his thanks as Mitsukake placed a few more pieces of youtiao on his plate.

Propping his head up on his good arm, Tasuki frowned. "He sure didn't seem all that drugged up t' me."

"Kodoku is not just a drug. It involves the combination of a number of poisonous herbs and magical incantations to control the recipient." Bowing to the cat's begging, Mitsukake held out another morsel. Tama-neko devoured it almost as quickly as it had been offered.

"And I'm certain that whoever made it is a very powerful sorcerer, no da," Chichiri added, putting down his chopsticks to drink his tea.

Tasuki gave Chichiri a quizzical look. He watched every move the monk made with what he hoped seemed like nonchalance. "Yah think it was Nakago?"

"I don't know, but it's possible, no da."

"Well, gentlemen," Nuriko said, wiping his hands on one of the hot towels the chambermaids had provided for the end of the meal, "I hate to eat and run, but I should probably see that Miaka gets some food before the cooks start preparing lunch." Putting down the towel, he stood from his chair and pushed it under the table.

"When you see her, please tell her that we're here for her if she needs anything," Mitsukake said. Nuriko smiled and turned and left the room.

Tasuki picked up his chopsticks again, hoping to get one more zhongzi before they were gone. He reached out across the table toward the dish, but the sling and the splint kept him from reaching it.  _Dammit, I hate not bein' able t' do stuff fer myself,_  he thought with a scowl. He slapped his chopsticks down across his plate in frustration. Just as he decided to forget about breakfast all together and grab a towel for his own hands, he watched as Chichiri picked up one of the small rice balls with his chopsticks and placed it on the plate in front of him. Chichiri said nothing, only giving him a small nod before returning to his own meal. Tasuki sat for a moment looking down at the leaf-wrapped bundle on his plate. A glowing grin spread across his face as he picked up his chopsticks and began untying the string.

"Wow, the weather outside has gotten a lot worse since yesterday," Chiriko remarked as he glanced out the open door, taking a towel and sitting back in his chair. Two chambermaids entered the room and began removing the plates from the table onto large lacquered trays. Chiriko nodded as one woman hesitated before taking his empty congee bowl, and wiped his hands.

"Summer storms are more rain producing than anything, though you'll still get pretty frequent thunder and lightning, no da." Chichiri placed his chopsticks on his plate as a chambermaid gathered up his place setting, leaving only his teacup. He also wiped his hands as he glanced out at the rain falling hard in the courtyard beyond the open door. His mind wandered back to the dream and Tasuki's embrace. Tasuki had said nothing about Hikou's death or his part in it, almost like it was an afterthought or he hadn't noticed it at all. And the smile on his face and the look in his eyes showed no sign that he cared about any of that, as if he hadn't even seen him stab the man. What did that mean? How could Tasuki hold him like that after he'd killed someone?

Mitsukake gave Tama-neko one last piece of pork as the chambermaids took up the remainder of the plates and collected the now-warm towels from each man. Standing, he joined the already-standing Chiriko. "Thank you for good company and conversation this morning," he said as he looked down at Chichiri and Tasuki, still seated at the table. "I'll be back later this afternoon to heal your wounds, Tasuki."

"Great. 'Bout time."

"Yes, thank you for a good meal," Chiriko said as both he and Mitsukake turned and left. The chambermaids followed behind carrying their laden trays.

"So," Tasuki said after a long moment, turning his body to face Chichiri, "what're we gonna do 'bout summonin' Suzaku now?" He leaned on the back of the rosewood chair and propped his head up on his hand. The sleeve of the silk robe he wore slid down his arm to pool around his elbow. Ivory linen bound his forearm, a stark contrast to his honey-hued skin. The robe's collar hung open, exposing the web of bandages around his chest as well. He looked Chichiri up and down, excited to be alone with him at last.

"I don't know." Chichiri sighed and, slumping back in his chair, he removed his mask. "Without Tamahome and  _The Universe of the Four Gods_ , I don't think we can, no da."  _J_ _ust_ _how much should I say to him?_  he thought. It probably wasn't wise to mention his suspicion that the Seiryuu Seven were already gathered until he'd had a chance to talk to Hotohori about it.

"'Ey, what th' fuck's with th' lack o' confidence, huh?" Tasuki studied the older man's face: the furrowing of his smooth brow, the frown on his delicate yet masculine lips, and the concern and frustration in that beautiful mahogany eye. Chichiri really was very handsome, despite his downcast expression. "Those Seiryuu fuckers want us t' fail an' if yah get all wishy-washy now, we  **will**  fail."

Chichiri traced the features of the mask as he fidgeted with it in his hands. He dropped the silly tone from his voice. "Kutou's massing their army along the border and every day reports come in that another village has been destroyed by their raiding parties. Right now His Highness is meeting with a delegation from Jusou province to discuss their options." There just didn't seem to be any way he could see to avoid a protracted and costly conflict without divine intervention. Shaking his head, he looked up and into Tasuki's gaze. "War is coming, Tasuki. It's not a matter of 'if,' it's a matter of 'when.'"

"An' that means just fuckin' givin' up an' lettin' 'em beat us? I told yah yesterday that yah owe me fer keepin' Tamahome an' Nakago off yer ass, didn't I?" Straightening up in his chair, he poked Chichiri in the shoulder with his good hand. The defeat in Chichiri's voice bothered him a lot. Such dour sentiment just didn't suit him at all; he much preferred the almost flirtatious banter they shared to the melancholy he saw now. "Yer a fuckin' monk, fer Suzaku's sake. Have some faith, would'ja?" he said, fixing him with a fanged grin.

Chichiri chuckled at Tasuki's upbeat assessment.  _How can you be so blithely optimistic?_ Tasuki was right though: he was a monk. If he didn't believe that things would work out, how could he expect to shepherd the rest of Suzaku's celestial warriors toward their goal? Though he wasn't quite sure if Tasuki was trying to berate him, encourage him, or guilt him, his words did bolster his confidence a bit.  _And why can you so easily convince_ _ **me**_   _to be optimistic as well?_ "Really? All you want is for me to just 'have some faith?'" he shot back, giving him a wry smile. "I would have thought you'd ask for something a little more grandiose than that."

"Why?" Tasuki rumbled, wide grin now a sly smirk. "Yah got somethin' yah wanna offer?"

Chichiri blinked twice, eye wide, and lips parted slightly in stupefaction. The rhythmic pounding of his heart in his ears was all he could hear. He watched Tasuki drape his good arm over the back of his chair once more and lean his powerfully muscled body toward smell of salve, soap, and Tasuki enveloped Chichiri as he did so. That golden eye bored into him with a heavy expectation. "I-I–" Chichiri stuttered.

"Chichiri! Tasuki!" Chichiri breathed again and looked away as the sound of their names and someone running down the veranda toward the room floated in through the open door. "Chichiri! Tasuki!" Exchanging a silent look of confusion, both men turned to the doorway as the shouting and footsteps got louder and louder.

Chichiri smoothed his mask back over his face just as a breathless and almost hysterical Nuriko burst into the room. The courtier gasped for air, chest heaving as he rushed toward the table. "She's gone!" Grabbing the back of one of the rosewood chairs, he sagged against it, eyes wide with fear and horror. "There was a note and His Highness–"

Chichiri rose from the table, his brows furrowed. "Who's gone, no da?" A feeling of dread crept into him, settling like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach.

"He went after her by himself–" Nuriko's narrow shoulders shook violently.

"Nu-ri-ko." Tasuki enunciated to get the babbling man to focus. "Who's gone?" Fear slunk up his spine as he watched Nuriko come unglued in front of them.

"Miaka," Nuriko cried, grabbing Chichiri's arm. "She wasn't in her room and I couldn't find her anywhere and there was a note on the bed I couldn't read so I showed His Highness and he ran off to look for her..." Pulling the taller man closer Nuriko took a deep, but shuddering, breath. Tears welled up in his reddening eyes and rolled down his face. "Please, you have to help me find her. I don't know what to do." He let go and buried his face in Tasuki's robe-clad shoulder as the redhead hobbled around the table to him.

Tasuki patted Nuriko's back as he continued to cry. Looking over his head, he locked eyes with Chichiri. "Can yah sense 'er, Chichiri?"

Taking a few deep breaths to calm his mind, Chichiri took his prayer beads in hand and closed his eyes. He began to chant, quietly at first then louder. The repetition of the words focused the power of Suzaku as it welled up within him. His character mark blazed to life, creating a halo of holy radiance around him. Somewhere in the background, he heard Tasuki gasp, but the heavy sound of his own breathing in his ears quickly swallowed up all sound. Hazy reddish clouds coalesced and floated through his mind's eye, parting and merging and parting again, showing him nothing but blackness.

_Please Suzaku, please help me find her,_ he prayed. Seconds ticked by without an answer and he struggled to remain as calm as he could. Then, as if responding to his request, brilliant, searing energy rolled off him in tangible waves, rippling his clothes against his body and whipping his ponytail across his back. The canvas of his mind's eye turned a solid vermilion, then slowly moved off as Chichiri realized he was seeing Suzaku take flight before him. As the god of the south retreated from his view, he suddenly found himself standing in the palace garden on the bank of the storm-frenzied lake. "Thank you," he shouted into the storm, and opened his eyes.

Tasuki stared in awe as the blinding red light faded away and Chichiri was himself once more. "Whad'dja see? Did'ja find 'er?" he asked, heart pounding, face burning with a scarlet blush. The raw power he'd felt coruscating off Chichiri was overwhelming. He'd only seen a glimpse of it in Kutou just before he lost consciousness, but that brief look paled in comparison to what he'd just witnessed.  _What else're yah hidin'?_

"She's in the gardens. We have to go  **now**." Chichiri strode quickly toward the door.  _Don't do it, Miaka. Don't do it._  Nuriko looked up at his words and, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he took off after him.

\- o - o - o -

They rushed down the veranda toward the palace gardens in silence. Both men were too afraid to speak for fear of bringing the dark thoughts that swirled in their minds to life.  _Just like then. Just like it,_  Chichiri thought bitterly as the wind and rain continued to assault the palace. The storm swept across the capital in great wet curtains. Ginkgo leaves flew off in all directions. Willows and pines thrashed about, their branches lashing like leafy whips. The only difference from the day of the flood that destroyed his previous life was that he had yet to see one flash of lightning or hear one crash of thunder.

Some way down the brick portico, Chiriko walked toward them, attention focused out into the stormy gardens. Hurried footsteps drew his attention and he looked up just as the two seishi reached him. "Chichiri, Nuriko, what's going on?" he asked, confusion and apprehension written on his face. He fell into step with them as they continued on. "Why are you running?"

"Miaka's gone missing and His Majesty went after her." Nuriko's brows furrowed, his gaze fixed on Chichiri. The monk had said nothing since they left Tasuki's room. The mirthful smile on his face had flattened to a firm and determined line. "Chichiri said he felt her life force in the gardens."  _Chichiri's never like this. I hope Miaka and His Highness are okay,_  Nuriko thought.

"Miaka is missing?" Chiriko looked back and forth between the two men. "Why? What happened?"

Chichiri took an abrupt left and continued down the bricked walkway, now a covered breezeway, through the sprawling imperial gardens. The driving wind brought the rain under the tiled roof. It tore at their clothes and drenched the three seishi to the bone. Ahead of them stood an elaborate, scarlet-lacquered pavilion that overlooked the seething pond. It was just as he had seen in his vision. He left the pathway and hurried out into the rain-slick grass and the full fury of the storm, Nuriko and Chiriko following close behind.

"Miaka! Your Majesty!" Nuriko called. His voice trailed away under the sound of flowing water and the howl of the wind. "Where are you?!" He took a few steps closer to the bank, eyes scanning the wind-thrashed bushes and treeline.  _Oh please, let them be okay._  "Miak–" Nuriko stopped short when he saw a faint glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. Moving closer, he stooped to pick the object up. Sitting in a shallow puddle near the base of the pavilion lay a golden coronet, delicately lacquered with cinnabar and inset with jade.

"What is it, Nuriko?" Chiriko looked over Nuriko's shoulder at the beautiful crown in his hands.

"I know this belongs to His Majesty."

Out in the center of the pond, a faint red light began to spread through the layers of water, accompanied by a soft bass rumble. The pond's surface roiled and bubbled contrary to the force of the wind. The water rose upward, creating a dome of dark, grayish-blue suffused with crimson and Chichiri knew his original suspicion was correct.

"Ah!" Chiriko cried and pointed at a large water bubble floating up from the pond and into the air above. The sphere spun dizzily, the water coating it swirling this way and that like a drop of ink on glass. "What is that?!" Suddenly, the water on the surface of the sphere exploded in a shower of vermilion light, revealing Hotohori cradling Miaka, apparently unconscious, in his arms.

"Miaka! His Highness!" Nuriko ran toward the hovering couple as they came to rest in the rain-soaked grass next to the pavilion. "Miaka..." he breathed, dropping to his knees in front of them with a splash. He felt her cheeks and forehead for any sign of life with trembling hands.

Dropping down on his knees next to Nuriko, Chichiri gently pushed the courtier aside and held two slender fingers against the side of Miaka's neck. Her skin felt cold and clammy to the touch, but the faint throb of her pulse was definitely there. "It'll be alright, no da," he said, moving another hand under her nose to check for breathing. Shallow, warm breaths fanned over the palm of his hand and he released a pent-up sigh of relief. "She's still alive and breathing, na no da." Rocking back on his heels, Chichiri stood, allowing Nuriko access to Miaka once again.

"Thank goodness." Hotohori pushed a wet strand of hair from the priestess' face.

Blue hair plastered to the side of his face, water running in rivulets down his back from his soaked ponytail, Chichiri was again reminded of the flood. He wanted to die that day, the day he killed Hikou, but at that time, he didn't. Maybe it was by Suzaku's will, or maybe it wasn't, but residents of a neighboring village managed to pull him from the raging waters before he could drown or bleed to death. So many times since then he'd tried to end it: the guilt, the pain, to rectify the mistake of his survival when everyone he loved was swept away. But each time, someone or something stopped him.  _Is this why you made me a Star of Suzaku and brought us all together? To keep others from replaying my mistakes? To give me a reason to live?_ he thought, looking down at Miaka's unconscious face.

Two retainers came running down the breezeway toward them. Gently, they took Miaka from their emperor and placed her on a litter. Nuriko helped the soaked Hotohori to his feet, and along with Chiriko, the group began to move off toward the guest palace and Miaka's rooms. "Are you coming, Chichiri?" Chiriko called back over his shoulder.

Chichiri looked out over the gardens as the storm began to slack off. The wind died from a gale to a stiff breeze. The rain lightened from a downpour to a steady shower. A sudden flash of Tasuki's smile and the words from his dream went through his mind:  _"I told yah I wouldn't let yah die."_ Chichiri's eyes widened as the possibilities unfurled themselves before him.  _Is that why he's here?_ Bringing his hand to his wrist, he looked up into the steel-gray sky.  _Is that why I felt such a connection to him when we first met?_ The rain continued to fall, even as the wind finally dwindled down to stillness.  _Is that why,_ he thought, pausing at the implications of it, _I feel so attracted to him now?_  "I'm right behind you, no da," he said finally, shaking his head, and turned to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 3
> 
> **Honey Locust Soap** → soap made from the seed pods of the Chinese Honeylocust tree (Gleditsia sinensis)  
>  **Decoction** → the extraction of the water-soluble substances of a drug or medicinal plants by boiling, and the liquid obtained thereby  
>  **Amur Cork** → (Phellodendron amurense), used in Traditional Chinese Medicine for a range of ailments, in this case used for abdominal pain  
>  **Frankincense** → (Boswellia carteri) hardened tree resin used in Traditional Chinese Medicine for improving circulation and repairing muscles  
>  **Jusou Province** → area in which Tamahome's home village is located  
>  **Congee** → a type of rice porridge or soup made by boiling rice with a lot of water and flavorings  
>  **Youtiao** → strips of fried dough eaten with congee for breakfast in southern China  
>  **Zhongzi** → glutinous rice balls filled with various meats and vegetables and wrapped in bamboo or reed leaves, then steamed  
>  **Cinnabar** → an ore of mercury used to create a reddish pigment for paints; in Chinese art, usually used in a suspension of lacquer


	4. Camera Obscura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Chichiri sinks deeper into a spiral of blame and guilt, Tasuki tries to make his move.

"A needle and thread?" Nuriko asked, brow raised. "What would you need a needle and thread for, Chichiri? Thinking of taking up embroidery?"

Chichiri chuckled and shook his head. "No, nothing like that, no da. I was hoping to do some fishing tomorrow, no da."

"Fishing?" Nuriko cocked his head, his long braid sliding off his shoulder. "With a needle and thread?"

"I'm going to use the needle as a hook and the thread as fishing line, no da."

A moment passed and then Nuriko's mouth opened in an unspoken "oh." With a smile, he turned to rummage through his sewing box.

Nuriko's room was nicely appointed but more modest than Chichiri expected for a member of the imperial harem. A round table of carved rosewood sat in the center of the room beneath an elaborate hanging lantern. It was not unlike the one in his own chamber, except much more delicate and surrounded by an equally fine set of chairs. The tall, canopied bed, clad in rich red and gold silk sheets and curtains, stood against the far wall from the door. Openwork lattice windows flanked it on either side and looked out over a small private courtyard. Beneath the rightmost window sat a low but beautifully lacquered vanity table and stool. Various jars and bottles of scented oils–jasmine chief among them if the scent permeating the room was any indication–and makeups were strewn about its surface. A large bronze mirror stood sentinel among them. Even the sandalwood sewing box Nuriko searched through was rather unassuming, though painted with a phoenix motif.  _How appropriate,_  Chichiri thought.

Behind him, Chichiri heard a handful of courtesans pause outside of Nuriko's open door. He knew the women were gossiping about his presence in the harem's palace; he could hear their muffled giggles and gasps clearly. Casting a glance back at them, he smiled as they continued past, startled by their discovery but still tittering. They reminded him of Kouran a bit and his amused expression faded.

He did love her, in his way. The village matchmaker had set up their marriage long before they'd been born and their families were very close because of it. As children, they spent a lot more time together than most of the older residents thought proper, but that didn't bother him much. Hikou and Kouran were his best friends and that didn't change even when he woke up one day in his early teens and realized he was in love. With Hikou. Fulfilling his filial duties to marry Kouran and have a family would have been awkward, but as a dutiful son he would have done it anyway. But seeing the two of them engaged in that passionate kiss shook him to his very core. Long had he dreamed of kissing Hikou like that, and when Kouran told him she couldn't go through with the marriage, that she had to marry Hikou, he snapped. Anger, betrayal, sadness, rage, jealousy, and heartbreak consumed him and he'd killed the man he loved the most for loving her instead.  _And after all that, she didn't even survive the flood,_ he thought bitterly.

Turning back with needle, thread, and a pair of scissors in hand, Nuriko started. "Chichiri?" The older man's smiling face held a pained quality and he stared through Nuriko, as if he were somewhere else entirely. "Hey, are you alright?" His brow furrowed in concern as he waved his slender hand in front of Chichiri's face.  _What is up with him lately? He's been acting stranger than usual ever since he, Tasuki, and Miaka got back from Kutou._

"Hmm?"

Nuriko frowned as he watched Chichiri's focus slowly come back to the present: he shifted slightly where he stood then blinked a few times before making eye contact. "I said, 'Are you alright?' You were staring off into space. Is everything okay?"

"No, no. I'm fine. It's nothing, no da." Chichiri smiled, but even that wasn't enough to dispel the apprehensive look on Nuriko's face. "Just thinking about this upcoming trip to Hokkan and the Shinzahou, na no da," he lied. His past and personal affairs were not something he wanted to share openly, even if Nuriko was a comrade and ally. "I should get going, no da. Thanks again, no da." With a nod, he accepted the needle, spool of silk thread, and scissors and turned to leave.

"Yeah, sure," Nuriko said as Chichiri reached the open door, and walking through, disappeared around the corner. "Goodnight, Chichiri."

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri walked down the quiet, brick veranda toward his room deep in thought. A deep sapphire twilight rose up from the barely-lit horizon, gradually darkening to a pure sable overhead. The first stars of evening shone in bright whites, yellows, and reds that the rising of the waning moon would soon overshadow. Cicadas called to each other in the gardens as he passed, a tranquil sound that reminded him just how much he was going to miss the palace and Kounan. Yet, the trip to Hokkan was something the priestess, and the Shichiseishi in turn, had to undertake to summon Suzaku and prevent Kutou's invasion.

Chichiri shook his head. How could he have been so trusting? After the drugged Tamahome's infiltration of the palace and attempt to kill Miaka in the name of Seiryuu the day before, he should never have assumed Kutou wouldn't try something just as devious to prevent Suzaku's summoning. Clenching his fist around the spool of silken thread, Chichiri frowned. Sending one of their own warriors, Amiboshi, to pose as Chiriko should never have worked as well as it did. None of the Shichiseishi had even suspected that there might have been something amiss. He himself had not batted an eye at the blond teenager after he had helped Tasuki, Miaka, and himself flee from Kutou. Chichiri had even created a barrier around the shrine, before the summoning ceremony earlier that afternoon, to protect the ritual from outside interference when the instrument of its ruin was inside all along. He was a fool to have just accepted that all of the Stars of Suzaku had been gathered instead being prudent and cautious. And to have the real Chiriko, a thirteen-year-old boy, have to save them all from near-death at the hands of the enemy... Everything, every failure to this point, was ultimately his fault and his fault alone. He'd been complacent and it had hurt Miaka most of all.

Taiitsukun's harsh words after they had tried to continue the ceremony should have been directed at him, not Miaka. Yet, Miaka took the sole blame for everything. It had been his duty to help her, to guide her to find the seven Stars and summon Suzaku, and he'd failed. With Amiboshi's fall into Eiyou's canal system and his subsequent death, Chichiri knew that he'd put the entire kingdom in danger. The emperor of Kutou must know by now that the ritual had been ruined and Suzaku couldn't be summoned. How much time did they have before Kutou's army swept into Kounan, bringing death and destruction? The Seiryuu Seven were attempting to summon the dragon-god. With one of their warriors now missing, they too would be looking for another means to do it.  _Which means they'll be going after the Shinzahou as well..._ He sighed, fingering the blessed prayer beads Taiitsukun had given him with his free hand.

Yet, it wasn't the journey or Suzaku's summoning that occupied the majority of his thoughts. Since the abortive mission in Kutou, the heartache and memories he thought he'd sunk many years before had resurfaced again and again, unbidden and with a clarity he'd never expected. Around seemingly every corner lay a reminder of his past life and past crimes: Miaka's attempted drowning the previous day, the women in the harem just now, and Tasuki.  _Tasuki..._

Their celestial brands had drawn them together as Warriors of Suzaku in the beginning, but he knew their shared fate as protectors of the priestess didn't explain the growing need he felt, and it really never had. It had been many years since he'd let anyone get close enough for him to even think about friendship, let alone physical attraction. After taking the vows to become a monk, he thought he'd managed to leave that part of his life and all that it entailed behind. Yet, Tasuki dredged up old thoughts, old feelings, things that were really better left and forgotten.

Chichiri walked into and out of patches of yellowy light spilling onto the veranda from the closed, illuminated windows of the other seishis' chambers. The other warriors had already retired to their rooms for the night, though he didn't think they had gone to bed just yet. Somewhere down the veranda he thought he heard the creak and jangle of a few doors opening and closing, but he wasn't sure. Ahead of him, Chiriko's, the real Chiriko's, window lay dark. Chichiri knew the young scholar had to be exhausted from his trip to their rescue earlier that day, so it didn't surprise him that he'd turned in early.  _If he hadn't shown up when he did, we'd all be dead right now, no da,_ he thought.  _Assassins, Tamahome turning against us, a fake celestial warrior, the Seiryuu Seven, and war with Kutou looming, no da. What else, na no da?_

Turning the corner of the guest palace, Chichiri glanced out into the gardens beyond the portico. The lantern-light from the surrounding buildings only barely penetrated the cloak of night hanging over the trees and shrubs, casting an ethereal glow on the edges of leaves and branches. A single nightjar croaked somewhere in the camellia-scented darkness, only to be answered a moment later by another. He smiled wistfully and pushed open the heavy bronze-clad door to his room.

\- o - o - o -

Tasuki stepped out of his room and saw Chichiri disappear around the corner at the end of the veranda. A wide grin lit up his face. He hadn't seen Chichiri since the Shichiseishi had parted ways after the failed summoning ceremony earlier that day. He knew Chichiri was probably very busy with preparations for the upcoming trip to Hokkan, but he really wanted to see him again.  _An' since Chiriko's asleep, I've got th' perfect reason t' talk to 'im._ He shut the door to his room and hurried down the hallway after him, boot heels clicking against the polished brick.

Chichiri had left his door open. Silently Tasuki leaned his body against the wooden doorframe, arms folded over his chest. He watched Chichiri set a handful of items down and unclasp his kesa, draping it over one of the chairs tucked under the table in the center of his room. Smiling to himself, Tasuki tilted his head until it touched the doorframe along with his shoulder. He thought about the first night he'd been in Eiyou, the night he and Chichiri talked for the first time, face to face in this room. Tasuki had no idea who or what the strange seishi he'd seen at the gates was when he'd come here that night. What he'd found was a kind, funny, interesting guy that he couldn't get out of his mind.  _An' nothin's been th' same fer me since, Chiri..._ Raising his hand to rap on the doorframe, he stopped short as Chichiri began to untie the closures at the shoulder of his tunic.

_Holy..._ Tasuki watched as Chichiri slipped the soft ivory linen off his shoulders. It whispered down his back to be caught by his supple arm. The movement disturbed the jade prayer beads laying across his slender collarbones. They clacked together as the string returned to its original position on his alabaster chest, its sky blue tassels brushing across taut, tan-hued nipples. Tasuki stared, his lips parted slightly in shock and lust, and slowly stood up straight. His cock strained against the dove gray linen of his pants as a shudder of desire raced down his spine. The flickering yellow light from the lantern above Chichiri's head drew patterns across the defined muscles of his stomach and back. He draped the tunic over the same chair he'd left his kesa on and retrieved the bronze basin and pitcher from the small console table near his bed. A burning, crimson blush overtook Tasuki's face. He felt like a voyeur as he watched him. Placing the vessel on the table, Chichiri poured some of the water into the metal bowl and removed his mask. Breath ragged with want, Tasuki watched that mahogany eye close as Chichiri splashed a handful of water on his handsome face. Tiny rivulets slid down his cheeks and the backs of his slender hands to his forearms.

Taking a few hasty steps backward, Tasuki dodged out of the doorway and pressed his back up against the lacquered wall to the left of the door, just beyond the portal of light spilling from the room. His heart raced, his blood pounding in his ears. A powerful throb ran through his groin. Dropping his head back to the wall, Tasuki looked up into the dark coffered ceiling of the veranda. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His whole being ached to touch Chichiri, but not like the whores he and Kouji had visited back home. Those women held no interest for him other than to fuck periodically to blow off steam. No, he wanted all of him: wanted to feel the softness of his lips against his own and to breathe in the scent of his skin, wanted to feel him writhing and moaning under him as they both raced toward climax, wanted to wake up next to him after a long night of passion, bodies naked and entwined.

"Hello? Is someone out there, no da?" Chichiri called. He was certain he'd heard footsteps outside his door while he was washing. Drying off his wet face and hands, he put his mask back on and grabbed his tunic. "Hello?" Pulling the shirt on, he retied the closures and yanked his prayer beads out of his collar as he walked to the door. He stuck his head out of the open doorway. "Hello?" he asked again, looking to the right down the twilit portico. Nothing moved and he could hear only the soft hum of night insects.  _Hmm. I swear I heard someone out here._  Glancing back to the left of the doorway, Chichiri started. "Tasuki?" The redhead looked at him with a simper. "What are you doing standing out here in the dark, no da?"

Tasuki tried to chuckle, but the sound wouldn't leave his throat. Clearing it loudly a few times, he finally managed a laugh akin to a cough. "Uh, yeah, 'bout that..." Tasuki ran his hand through the hair at the back of his head.  _Please don't let 'im notice th' hard-on..._

Neither man said anything for a long moment. "Well, do you want to come in, no da?" Chichiri asked finally, eyebrow rising. Tasuki nodded, but made no move to enter or move from his spot against the wall.  _What is he doing, no da?_ Chichiri sighed when it became obvious Tasuki wasn't going to go into the room first. Shaking his head, he turned and reentered his chamber.

\- o - o - o -

"You know," Chichiri said over his shoulder, motioning Tasuki to sit down at the table, "you really seem to have a knack for suddenly appearing at my door late at night, na no da." Chichiri retrieved the tray with the small tea service from the console near the door. He shifted the tray to one hand to collect a long, slender bamboo pole leaning against the wall next to it.

"No shit..." Tasuki murmured as he took a seat. He was having a hard time keeping the image of Chichiri's tantalizing body out of his mind. Folding his tunic-clad arms, he leaned forward onto the table edge. His necklaces jangled and his earrings swung as he turned his head to follow Chichiri around the room.

"What?"

"Nothin'." Tasuki watched him place the bamboo stalk on the table next to the small pile of items he'd seen him deposit there earlier. "So, whatcha doin' with all this stuff?" he asked, looking up.

Putting down the tea service, Chichiri removed two celadon cups from the tray and sat them on the table in front of him. "I'm making myself a fishing pole, no da." He took a seat across the table from Tasuki and poured him a cup of tea before filling his own. Nodding as Tasuki took the proffered cup, Chichiri turned his attention to the silk thread.

"A fishin' pole? Whadda yah need a fishin' pole for?"

Chichiri took the free end of the gossamer strand in one hand and carefully unrolled it from the delicate wooden bobbin. "Catching fish. What else, no da?" He chuckled as the quizzical expression on Tasuki's face shifted to an annoyed frown.

"Yeah, I figgered that.  **Why**  d' yah need a fishin' pole?"

"I've always wanted to do some fishing in the palace pond, so I decided to give it a try before we go to Hokkan, no da." A gentle breeze from the open doorway caught the coil of already unspooled thread lying on the table and flung it out like a length of unsecured spiderweb. Looping it around his slender fingers like a makeshift spindle, Chichiri slid the recollected line off his hand. "Can you hold onto this for a moment, no da?" he asked. His long bangs bobbed as he looked up from his work.

"Uh, sure." Tasuki held onto the loop of thread with one hand and took a sip of tea. Chichiri seemed to him to be preoccupied. Maybe his visit hadn't been a good idea after all. He watched Chichiri take up the small pair of iron scissors next to him and cut the silk from its wooden spool. "Think there's any fish in there t' catch?"

Chichiri paused to take a sip of his own rapidly cooling tea. "No clue," he said, putting the cup back down and picking up the small iron needle. Using only his fingers, he coaxed the pliable metal into a hook shape and, when he was satisfied with it, looked up again. "Can you hand me the thread please, no da?"

"Yeah."  _Does 'e not wanna talk t' me?_ Giving Chichiri the coil, Tasuki cocked his head and studied him for a moment. A look of frustration crossed Chichiri's face; his brows furrowed as his perpetual smile curved into a frown. Raising the needle closer to his face, he managed to get the gossamer strand through the tiny hole on the fourth try. "But yer gonna fish in there anyway?"

"Yup." Chichiri pulled a length of the thin white thread through the needle's eye, winding the shorter part around the longer part again and again before tying it off with a small but tight knot. A smile of triumph spread across his face. Pushing back his chair from the table, he stood and picked up the bamboo rod. His nimble fingers wove the silk thread around the tapered end before tying it too with a knot.

"You'd prob'ly fish in a bathtub if yah thought it'd be fun, wouldn't yah?" Tasuki threw out, brow furrowing as his gaze followed Chichiri to the open doorway.  _I shouldn've come down 'ere. I should prob'ly go..._

Leaning the finished pole against the lacquered wall next to the heavy bronze-clad door, Chichiri turned and walked back, pulling the rosewood chair out. He paused and looked at Tasuki for a moment. He flashed him an impish grin. "Probably, no da." Reseating himself, Chichiri took a sip of tea and peered over the rim of his teacup. "What exactly can I do for you, Tasuki, no da? I know you didn't come here to talk about fishing, na no da."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Tasuki grinned. "Well, I was hopin' Chiriko was still up so I could get 'im t' help me write t' Kouji, but th' kid's asleep already," he said and leaned forward on his arms. "An' since yer awake, I was hopin' yah'd gimme a hand instead."

"Help you write, no da?" Chichiri blinked a few times and cocked his head. The idea caught him off guard: he knew Tasuki had left people behind when he'd come to Eiyou, but he had only mentioned them in passing and never gave any indication he wanted to keep in contact. Chichiri hadn't been sure what to think when he'd found Tasuki in the shadows outside his room, but this was a definite surprise. Apparently, there were facets to Tasuki hidden beneath that reckless optimism and stubborn naïveté, Chichiri thought, and it intrigued him.

Downing the rest of his tea in one gulp, Tasuki set down the cup. "Since we're goin' off t' Hokkan fer who-th'-fuck-knows how long, I figgered I should send Kouji a letter tellin' 'im what's goin' on." He shifted back and forth on his chair, eyes shining with excitement.

"Alright, but who's Kouji, no da?" Chichiri asked as he got up from the table. He walked to a small red-lacquered chest tucked in the corner of the room near the large painted screen. Flipping the bronze latch, he opened the wooden lid and gathered up his writing implements.

"He's my best pal back at Mount Reikaku. I left 'im in charge when I joined up with Miaka."  _An' I_ _bet he'll fuckin' shit 'imself when I tell 'im 'bout everythin' that's happened so far,_ he thought with a snicker. Tasuki watched Chichiri walk back to the table, arms full of things he could only partly identify. Cocking his head, he looked on intently as Chichiri set a tightly bound stack of paper sheets on the tabletop, tied with a length of sheer red silk. Next to it he placed a round wooden box with elegant characters embossed on its lid and an unassuming bamboo handled brush. Shifting a green-glazed cup with ornate reliefs across its surface to his left hand, he put a fist-sized rectangular piece of slate with a carved lid down, followed by a delicate sculpture of a frog. Tasuki marveled that Chichiri knew what all of these things were and how to use them. "So's all this stuff yers?" Shifting to prop his head up on one hand, he sighed, a small smile gracing his lips.

Chichiri crossed the room again to the opposite corner and, taking the bronze pitcher in one hand, filled the celadon cup with clean water. Chuckling, he turned back to the table and shook his head. "No. When I first came to the palace, I had one of His Highness' retainers provide me with a decent writing set, no da." Sitting back down, he poured a small amount of the water from the cup into a tiny spout on the frog's back, carefully monitoring the thin stream so as not to overfill it. "Because you just never know when a red-haired bandit will show up asking for a letter, na no da." Glancing up, he shot Tasuki a waggish grin.

"Ah, come on," Tasuki countered. The deep tenor of his voice resonated in his chest to produce a suggestive rumble. "Yah know yah like it when I show up here fer  **anythin** '." He felt a thrill of triumph as Chichiri swallowed and looked away, a subtle pink blush showing through his mask.

"So what do you want to say in this letter of yours, no da?" Chichiri asked, changing the subject. He exchanged the patterned porcelain cup for the bundle of paper. Untying the small knot in the silk holding it closed, he took a single sheet from the top of the stack and placed it in front of him.

Tasuki watched Chichiri lift the lid off the piece of slate. He picked up the frog statue he'd just filled and tipped it so that a very small amount of water fell from the item's sculpted mouth to land in the center of the slate rectangle. "Nothin' too special, I guess. I dunno." His gaze following Chichiri's every move, Tasuki shifted in his chair to get a better look. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Mixing up ink, no da." Chichiri took up the box and removed the lid, revealing a round onyx-hued cake of ink. Carefully he removed it from its container and, taking it in his hand, he pressed it firmly into the slate, grinding it in a rhythmic circular motion. A scraping like that of unglazed ceramic sliding across itself filled the air as the sooty black ink dissolved into the tiny puddle of water in the ink stone, mixing with it until it formed a thick paste. He paused to add more water from the dropper.

Tasuki watched in awe as Chichiri continued this way for some time: adding a few more drops of water, testing the consistency of the ink on the lip of the celadon cup, then grinding more of the ink on the ink stone. "How d'yah know how t' do that?"

"I've been around, no da," Chichiri said and dipped the tips of the bamboo brush's tan bristles into the rich sable ink. The brush wicked up the liquid readily and with a deft hand he again placed a single drop of ink on the rim of the cup. This time, it didn't run down the side and he looked back up.

Tasuki frowned and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yah don't think I really wanna know, do yah?"

"Do you, no da?"

"Hey," he growled, fangs bared. He leaned forward, jabbing at the tabletop with a forefinger. "Just 'cause I can't fuckin' read er write doesn't mean I'm fuckin' stupid er somethin'." With another, softer growl, he sat back in his chair again, refolding his arms. "Maybe I  **like**  t' learn stuff sometimes."

Chichiri regarded the still-pouting teenager for a long, quiet moment. The lantern above their heads flickered a little as a breeze blew in through the lattice windows above his bed. Tasuki's vermilion locks shone with ever-shifting golden highlights, falling in his eyes and framing his handsome face with flame made substantial. This was the second time he'd been faced with opening up to him in as many days and he still wasn't sure if he should. Chichiri hesitated to let Tasuki get too close; they might be comrades-in-arms, but he didn't trust easily and Tasuki was no exception. Yet, after he'd spent so much effort pursuing him for his friendship, Chichiri found he was beginning to crave the closeness. Tasuki's closeness. Letting out a soul-deep sigh, he smiled thoughtfully. "Alright, no da."

"So, how d'yah know all this stuff?"

Placing the carved slate lid on the ink stone, Chichiri rinsed the ink out of the brush in the porcelain cup and, gently squeezing the remaining water out of the bristles, reshaped the tip to a sharp point. He set the brush down next to the covered slate. Patting the cake of ink dry on one of the sheets of paper from the stack, he returned it to its box, shutting the lid. Chichiri refilled Tasuki's nearly forgotten teacup, then his own. "My family was known for its scholarship and government service, so I was taught calligraphy as part of my education, na no da."

Tasuki nodded his thanks, curious at Chichiri's change in demeanor. The quiet, pensive air he'd seen on his first night in the palace, the night before the mission to Kutou, had returned. "Whadda yah mean 'was?'" Taking a swig of the lukewarm tea, he studied the monk as the sweetly spiced liquid flowed down his throat.  _Why does tellin' me about yerself bother yah so much?_

Chichiri stared into the amber-hued pool, watching a stray bit of tea leaf whirl around the inside of the teacup in his hands. His perpetual smile faded to a barely visible hint of its usual mirth. He dropped the silly tone to his voice and looked up into Tasuki's almond-shaped eyes. "All of my family is gone. They were swept away when the Shouryuu River flooded and destroyed my village six years ago. I'm all that's left," he said. Pausing briefly, he brought the delicate vessel to his lips and took a long sip.

"Holy shit..."  _Way t' go, Tasuki,_ he thought, mentally kicking himself. He swallowed hard, brow furrowing. "I'm sorry, Chiri. I didn' know."

"It's alright." Chichiri put down his now-empty cup. The edges of his mouth curved back up slightly at the concern written on Tasuki's face. "You're the first person I've told about that in a very long time." Chichiri held his gaze for a moment longer then lifted the lid off the ink stone. "The ink is starting to dry, so we should probably start working on this letter of yours, no da," he said, adding a little more water from the frog-shaped dropper. Picking up the brush, he mixed in the extra liquid, careful not to damage the bristles.

Tasuki crossed his arms on the edge of the table and leaned forward onto them. The sleeves of his bone-colored tunic pulled taut across his biceps and shoulders. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched Chichiri test the consistency of the ink on the rim of the cup once more. Chichiri had let him in, if only just barely, and that fact made him happier than anything.  _It ain't much, but it's definitely a start,_ he thought. "Hey, if I tell yah what t' write, can yah do that?"

"Of course, no da."

"Alright, how 'bout this?" Tasuki said, waiting for Chichiri to prepare for his dictation. The monk took up the brush and held it deftly in his hand. Tasuki began again just as Chichiri glanced up from the page. "Kouji. How yah been? Yah better be takin' care o' things like I said to, 'cause if yer not, I'll kick yer ass." He almost lost his train of thought as he watched Chichiri's arm sweep across the page. Concise yet beautiful characters flowed in neat black rivers from his brush. "How're th' guys? Everybody's doin' okay, right? I decided t' send yah this letter t' tell yah I'm not gonna be back fer a while longer. A shitload o' stuff's been goin' on 'round here an' now we've gotta go t' Hokkan fer a while." He paused to let Chichiri refill the brush. The grace of his movements was mesmerizing. "I wish I could see yah an' th' guys sooner, but what're yah gonna do? By th' way, got some big news fer yah, but I'll tell yah 'bout it when I see yah next." He smiled to himself.  _An' just wait till yah meet him, Kouji._

Chichiri looked up when the silence he'd assumed was a pause became a complete stop. "Is that the end, no da?"

"Yeah." Eyes shining in the lantern light, Tasuki leaned farther across the small round table to examine the calligraphy. "Wow," he marveled. He reached out to pick up the delicate paper sheet, necklaces jangling. "An' that's what I said?" An excited fanged grin seized his face as his gaze ran up and down the columns of text over and over again.

Chichiri smiled at Tasuki's enthusiasm. Tasuki couldn't completely conceal his youthful verve behind the sarcastic arrogance he tried to affect. Again it reminded Chichiri of who he used to be, of what he had lost long ago. "For the most part, no da. Except with no contractions, better grammar, and no cursing, na no da."

Tasuki looked up from the page at him, eyes narrowed. His lips twisted in an irked frown. "'Ey, I don't need t' take crap from  **you**." He handed the sheet back to Chichiri. His frown deepened and a bright red blush crept across his cheeks as Chichiri chuckled. "How's Kouji gonna know who fuckin' sent it if it ain't even what I fuckin' said?"

"You could sign it, no da."

With a growl, Tasuki stood and walked around the table to where Chichiri sat and glared down at him. "Gimme that fuckin' brush." He grabbed the proffered brush as Chichiri stood, and flopped down into the vacated chair. "What fuckin' good 's it t' dictate if yah don't fuckin' write it down?" he muttered, straightening the sheet of paper in front of him. "Now, how do I do this?"

Chichiri burst into laughter. "Here, I'll show you, no da." He chuckled as he looked down at the vexed redhead. "Hold your dominant hand out and bring your fingers together. Like this." He demonstrated for Tasuki as he hesitated, anger forgotten for a moment as he concentrated. "That's good," Chichiri said when Tasuki had mirrored his posture. "Now, gently hold the brush between your fingers and thumb, but don't leave too much space between your fingers, no da." Tasuki did so, much more confidently than just a moment before, and Chichiri smiled. "I think you're getting the hang of it, no da."

"Well, I wouldn't hafta fuckin' do this if yah'd just written it th' way I said it," Tasuki retorted, quickly resuming his irritation as he realized he was enjoying the lesson.

"You mentioned that already, no da." Chichiri laughed again. "Now bring your third and fourth fingers in toward your palm and use the backs of those fingers to support the brush handle, no da." Nodding as Tasuki mastered the motion, he continued. "Okay, this is a bit tricky. Tilt your hand until the shape of the space between your forefinger and thumb resembles an oval, no da." He watched for a moment as Tasuki tried and failed a few times, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper as his frustration grew. "It might help if you tried to turn your wrist toward you, so that the tips of all the fingers on the brush handle are roughly in a line, no da."

"Fine, fine," Tasuki grumbled, but followed his advice exactly. Triumph washed over him when he'd managed it. "Now how do I write 'Genrou'?"

"Here, let me, no da." Placing one hand on the back of the carved rosewood chair, Chichiri bent down and gently placed his hand over Tasuki's on the brush and maneuvered it to the ink stone.

Tasuki inhaled sharply at the warmth of Chichiri's hand on his own. His heart started to race in his chest. He fought desperately not to drop the brush as Chichiri pressed his chest to his back. The faint hint of honey locust soap and Chichiri's own masculine scent enveloped him. Tasuki could hear Chichiri's breath in his ear, just a hand's breadth away. An involuntary shudder of desire ran down his spine.

"Keep your arm loose, but don't let go and keep the brush perpendicular to the tabletop, na no da," Chichiri said, dipping the bristles in the deep black ink. "You're going to use your shoulder to form the strokes, not your wrist, no da."

Tasuki just nodded, voice trapped in his throat. The image of Chichiri's naked body ran unchecked through his mind.  _Holy fuckin' Suzaku,_ he thought, cock straining against his pants.  _I want yah..._ His breath quickened to almost a pant. Signing his name to the letter seemed very far away with Chichiri's warm body pressed to his.

Chichiri moved Tasuki's arm across the page, tracing the strokes of "Genrou" in the empty part of the sheet just beyond the text of the letter. He tried to ignore just how close they were, to focus only on the task at hand, to lose himself in the brushstrokes. Yet, the warmth of Tasuki's skin through his shirt, the feel of skin under his fingers, the smell of his hair against his cheek divided his attention and assaulted his resolve. Blood pulsed loud in his ears, echoing the intense throb in his groin, his own member responding to Tasuki's body.  _I can't stay like this..._ Taking a deep breath to calm the heart pounding against his ribs, Chichiri finished the second character with one last sweep of the brush and started to pull away.

Instinctively, Tasuki grabbed Chichiri's wrist, dropping the bamboo brush with a hollow knock on the brick floor. He felt Chichiri's arm tense, his breathing ragged and hot against the side of his face. "Chiri..." he breathed, his lips a hair's breadth from Chichiri's ear. His voice was a sensual rumble from within his throat, full of latent passion. Tasuki felt him shudder. A soft moan slipped from subtly quivering lips as Chichiri slowly turned to face him, his fox-eyes wide with desire. Time passed on leaden wings as he leaned forward to claim Chichiri's mouth for his own, each second increasing the tempo of the blood and lust pumping through his veins.

"It's not fair! It's just not fair!"

Chichiri blinked, face flushing a furious crimson. The sound of Miaka's voice floating in through the open door physically wrenched him from the moment. Heart skipping a few beats, he backed away from the table and took a deep, tremulous breath. He glanced toward the door just as Miaka raced past through the pool of yellowy light spilling onto the veranda outside, auburn hair trailing behind her as she went.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, **fuck**!_  Tasuki cursed silently, releasing Chichiri's wrist. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, body trembling as it began filtering the flood of adrenaline and testosterone flowing through him. His cock throbbed and he cursed again. Glancing up, he found Chichiri standing several paces away from the table, back to him, one hand on his hip, the other running through his own cerulean hair. He was so close; a second longer and he was certain he would have been waking up in Chichiri's bed the next morning. "Chiri–"

"I'll take care of the letter, so why don't you get some sleep, no da?" Chichiri didn't look at him or turn around as he cut him off, silly high-pitched voice in place once more.

Tasuki stood, the scrape of wood against brick tiles as he pushed back the chair grating in the silence between them. He watched Chichiri take a deeper, more controlled breath before putting both hands on his hips, head hung, shoulders set. Tasuki paused a moment to retrieve the brush lying almost forgotten under the table. He placed it on the tabletop with a soft wooden click. Taking one last look at the silent monk, he walked out the door and into the night just as the moon crested the palace roofs.

\- o - o - o -

Tasuki growled, slowly coming to as the light invading his senses grew brighter. Warm irregular pools of sunlight played over his face and he opened one eye a crack. As his sleep-blurred vision cleared, he remembered that he was in his own bed. "Fuck." He pushed himself to sitting and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. The brick floor was cool against his bare feet. "Last night was a fuckin' disaster," he muttered.

He stood and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  _If only Miaka hadn't fuckin' run by,_ he thought and poured some of the clean water from the bronze pitcher on the table next to his bed into his cupped hand.  _What th' fuck was she doin' out that late anyway?_  He splashed the water onto his face and took a deep breath. The water's coolness lessened his fatigue but didn't banish it. Throwing the white silk pajamas he wore in a heap on the tousled bedsheets, Tasuki changed back into his tunic and pants. The electricity that arced in the pit of his stomach when he thought about what had almost happened hadn't faded.

He could still smell the sandalwood on Chichiri's clothes, feel the heat of his breath fanning over his face, see the undisguised hunger in his eyes, hear the quiet sound of passion he made. Nothing in his entire life could have prepared him for the intensity of his desire for Chichiri. And he had no clue what would happen now. He'd stake his life on Chichiri wanting it just as much as he did, but the almost dismissive way he'd acted after their interruption confused him. Tasuki sighed then stifled a yawn as he stepped into his boots and slipped on his coat and tessen. All he could hope was that Chichiri wouldn't try to avoid him. Opening the heavy wooden door, he walked out into the bright morning sun.

\- o - o - o -

"Good morning, Red," Nuriko said as he walked up the veranda. The sunlight shone on his yellow silk robe, picking out the delicately embroidered green mandalas dotting its surface. Tucking his hands into the voluminous sleeves, he smiled as Tasuki rubbed his eyes. "You look awful. Long night?"

Tasuki yawned deeply, covering his mouth with one hand. "Yah could say that."

Nuriko smirked at the response as Tasuki started off down the bricked portico. "And just what does  **that**  mean, I wonder?" They fell into step as they walked. Nuriko nodded to a pair of chambermaids who scurried past to begin tidying the Shichiseishi's rooms.

"None o' yer damn business, Nuriko," Tasuki retorted. Brilliant gold edged the leaves of the trees and bushes and the roof tiles and balustrades of the buildings on the far side of the gardens they passed.

"Well that pretty much says everything, doesn't it?" Nuriko winked as Tasuki looked over at him. He enjoyed riling him up and then watching the fireworks, but this morning he seemed a bit more serious in his irritation than usual.

Tasuki frowned and turned his attention back to the veranda ahead of them. "It doesn't say anythin'. Just leave me alone."

"Touchy, touchy. I was just joking, Tasuki." Nuriko shrugged. "Anyway, the festival of Qi Xi is tonight. What do you say we go and take Miaka with us?" he exclaimed. "She needs some cheering up right now, don't you think? We're starting out for Hokkan in two days and we won't get another chance to just have some fun."

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea t' me." The sweet warble of a handful of bulbuls echoed and reechoed off the lacquered wooden walls of the guest palace. "Hey, yah seen Chichiri this mornin'?"

"No, but I think he was supposed to be meeting with His Majesty and Chiriko to discuss the trip to Hokkan. Why?"

"Nothin'. Never mind."

Nuriko turned to Tasuki, questions on his lips, when he caught sight of Miaka rounding the corner of the building ahead of them. "Well, good morning to you, Miaka," he called. He waved as they walked toward her, his sleeve billowing in the light breeze.

Thankful for Miaka's distraction and Nuriko's seemingly short attention span, Tasuki relaxed a bit and yawned again. "Hi."

"Oh, good morning." Her voice was chipper as she beamed at them.

"Hey, Miaka. Tasuki and I were just talking. Why don't we go out on the town tonight? They're having the festival of Qi Xi. Huh? So, what do you think? Don't you think we should go?" Nuriko clapped his hands together in excitement, eyes shining. The sound of soft shoes and rustling fabric drew their attention. Tamahome rounded the corner and stopped some ways from them. He stared intently at Miaka, but said nothing.

Miaka paused, her face falling for just a second before she resumed her cheerful smile. "Oh, good morning, Tamahome," she said, walking back down the veranda the way she had come. "I hear there's a festival tonight. Why don't we all go enjoy ourselves while we're still here in town?" Patting his shoulder as she walked past, she disappeared around the corner, leaving the three celestial warriors in the middle of the veranda.

Tasuki and Nuriko exchanged a look of shock. "Did'ja see that, Nuriko? How she just blew 'im off?" Tasuki whispered behind his hand into Nuriko's ear. He never took his eyes off the still-silent Tamahome.

"Yeah, I saw it, Tasuki. With my very own eyes," Nuriko whispered back behind his own slender hand. An impish grin spread across his face and he walked over to Tamahome. He patted him on the shoulder. "I can only assume that he said  **all**  the wrong things again, just like he  **always**  manages to do."

Tasuki patted him on the other shoulder, a fanged grin on his face. " **So** , whad'dja do, eh? Come on, yah can tell  **us**."

Tamahome growled, a guttural sound from deep within his chest. He shoved both men away, knocking Nuriko to the ground and Tasuki into the wooden balustrade before stalking off without a word.

Hauling himself to his feet, Tasuki rubbed his arm through the leather of his sleeve.  _That's gonna be a bruise later,_ he thought sourly. He readjusted the ornate gold belt across his chest as he looked toward where Tamahome had gone, one eyebrow rising. Shaking his head, he held out a hand to the winded courtier and pulled him up with a grunt.

"I don't think he likes being teased." Nuriko's gaze followed after Tamahome as he smoothed out the hem of his robe.

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the knotted muscles as best he could. Sunlight filtered through the stand of bamboo behind him. It scintillated across the rippling surface of the pond and cast highlights in his hair. Warm spots of sunshine shifted around on his back with each light breath of wind. He'd been sitting in the same spot, cross-legged, for hours, fishing pole in hand, hook and line dangling into the water. Nothing was biting and it gave him time to think.

Sleep came in fits and starts the night before and he had tossed and turned restlessly. He finally abandoned the idea just before dawn, but not before the nightly repeat of his dream. Never before. What the hell happened last night? Just remembering it brought an insistent flutter to his stomach and an electric surge to his groin. Tasuki had almost kissed him, and he'd almost let him. His grip on the bamboo rod tightened. And if he had, it wouldn't have stopped there.

Chichiri could still feel Tasuki's well-defined muscles beneath that linen tunic, pressed against him, flexing as he moved. His heart beat faster, his breath came quicker, shallower. He could smell Tasuki's hair and skin. He could hear his voice, deep and seductive in his ear. He could see the look of unadulterated lust in his eyes. Chichiri shivered, his body expressing the pent-up desire his mind wanted to deny.

It scared him how easily he'd been enchanted by Tasuki's charisma, and how quickly his attraction had become physical; sex had rarely if ever crossed his mind since Hikou's death. He'd never wanted anyone that way since that time. Until now. Until Tasuki. Chichiri didn't just want him, he needed him; he needed the poorly disguised flirtation, the connection. He needed Tasuki's fire, his heat. But he couldn't, mustn't let himself get any more involved with Tasuki than he'd already become. Pain, loss, and betrayal were all that desire had ever brought him. Jealousy, hatred, and rage born from his desire for Hikou had consumed him and he'd murdered his best friend, the love of his life, with his own hands for desiring Kouran, his fiancée. That fact would never allow him to love or be loved as freely as he would want. And if he gave himself up to it, to his desire, there was nothing to stop that jealousy, hatred, and rage from claiming another victim by his hand.

And in his heart, he knew that any relationship with Tasuki could never be, so long as they were celestial warriors. Kutou was on the verge of invasion and the one sure shot they had to summon Suzaku had slipped through their fingers as their copy of  _The Universe of the Four Gods_  burned in the sacrificial fire. To save their country and their people, the Shichiseishi and the priestess had to dedicate themselves completely to finding the Shinzahou of Genbu, hidden for generations in the frozen lands of Hokkan. There was no room for anything he might want for himself beyond Suzaku's summoning. Beyond that sacred duty, nothing remained. He could never forget that, no matter how he might feel about it.

The faint hint of a familiar life force flickered at the back of his mind and he smiled to himself. Leaves rustled as the bamboo behind him was pushed aside. Loose pebbles skittered under a pair of soft-soled shoes on the rocks next to him as a shadow stretched out onto the water in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miaka sit down an arm's length away. Folding her hands in her lap, she looked out over the pond for a long while.

"Are there any fish around here?"

"Who knows, no da?"

The conversation died away, and he mentally laughed at the irritated look on Miaka's face when he didn't elaborate.  _She and Tasuki really are so alike,_  he thought. He was glad that his mask concealed the melancholy on his true face.

"You know, I've been wondering for quite awhile now, Chichiri. Why do you wear that mask around almost all of the time?" She looked over and started as she found he was looking at her. With a simper and a halfhearted chuckle, she waved her hands. "Ah, I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay. It's just that it lets you smile all the time, doesn't it? I wish I had something like that."

He braced his fishing pole in his lap and watched her look back out over the sun-drenched gardens. She began again, voice lower and expression sadder.

"For awhile now, I've been forced to cut myself off from the two people I love most in the entire world. But, breaking up with him may turn out to be the best thing for Tamahome. When I learned that Yui was also in love with Tamahome, I thought I could distance myself from him." Miaka gazed down into the water. Her bangs fell in a curtain over her face. "I thought it would be respectful and loving for me to try to step aside for them, but then Tamahome was so honest and straight-forward about his feelings for me and so was Yui. I was confused, I guess. That's why I ran away at first, because I didn't want to hurt them. Either of them. Lame excuse, huh?"

She smiled ruefully and looked up into the bright azure sky. He could see the pain and confusion in her brown eyes.

"It didn't do me any good to hide the truth and I wanted to be honest with them both because I love them. But I was too honest and too direct, wasn't I? Or maybe everything I've done so far has been stupid and wrong."

Chichiri sighed. "You didn't do anything wrong, and neither did Yui. No one's to blame. You just aren't able to choose between your love and your friendship." He reached up and removed the mask from his face. He cradled it in his hand before willing it to disappear. "But, whichever one you do choose, you'll lose the other, and there's nothing you can do about that, no da. I had to learn that the hard way, too. That's how I got this scar, no da." He turned to face her fully, letting her see his ruined eye in detail. As painful as those first few months had been after the flood, watching Miaka struggle with the same demons that he had made him question karma. Perhaps he was destined to relive that crime again and again, not just in his life but in the lives of those dearest to him, helpless but for the warning he could offer.

"It happened when I was eighteen. I was just a kid, like Tamahome. I had a fiancée that I loved dearly, and a best friend that I loved too. The three of us were very close. We were all friends and very happy, but then, one day, the man I thought was my best friend stole my fiancée away from me."

"So, what did you do?" she asked. Her eyes traced the outline of the scar as she listened.

Chichiri laced his fingers in his lap and looked down, brows furrowed. For as much as it hurt him to replay that day over and over in his mind, admitting his part in Hikou's death out loud was agonizing. "I completely lost my head. I was so angry and hurt by his betrayal that I didn't realize what I was doing. I know I didn't really want to kill him. It was an accident." He clenched his hands together until his knuckles turned white. "In the moment my best friend died, I was crying. Hard. And it was in that moment that I realized how much I really loved him." Taking a deep breath, he smiled bitterly to himself. "So, that's how and when I got this scar, no da. And because it will never be entirely healed, I will never forget my best friend. I know people will be upset when they see my disfigured face, no da." Conjuring another mask, he held it up over his features, allowing it to fuse with his true face once more. "So that's why I always wear a smiling face over the wound, no da."

Miaka looked down into the water. "What should I do?" she whispered. Jerking her head up, she stared at Chichiri intently, brows furrowed. "What should I do, Chichiri?! There's no way I can fight Yui like that, and I don't think it'll solve anything!"

"There is only one thing I can think of to tell you, no da."

"Miaakaa!" The sound of Nuriko shouting drew Miaka's attention and she glanced toward the noise. Nuriko stood on the veranda running along the outside of the harem's palace across the garden, waving his arms. "Miaaakaaaaa! Miaaakaaaa!"

Pushing herself to standing, Miaka brushed the dirt off the back of her denim jumper. She scowled, arms akimbo. "Keep it down, would you?" she yelled.

Chichiri picked up his fishing rod again and focused on the wind-swept ripples riding the surface of the pond. "I am sure Yui does love you, no da," he said. "Even more than you think she does. Even if she doesn't realize it herself, she loves you a lot, no da. That's why she has to work so hard to hate you. And that's why you'll be able to save her in the end, na no da."

"I'm not sure I understood everything you said, but I'll think about it." She smiled at him and turned to leave. "Thanks for listening to me. It helped," she called over her shoulder as she ran through the gardens toward Nuriko.

He watched her go.  _Please, Suzaku, don't let it end up the same way for her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 4
> 
> **Qi Xi** → Chinese festival (also called The Festival to Plead for Skills) that's celebrated on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month (usually August) that celebrates the love between the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd, star-crossed lovers personifying the stars Vega and Altair. Girls would pray to the Weaver Girl to become adept at domestic skills like embroidery and to find a good husband. It was imported into Japan as the festival of Tanabata.  
>  **Nightjar** → Great Eared Nightjar (Eurostopodus macrotis), a fairly large, nocturnal, ground-nesting bird native to southern China and southeast Asia  
>  **Bulbul** → Light-vented Bulbul (Pycnonotus sinensis), a forest-dwelling, diurnal songbird native to China


	5. Callas Went Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of leaving for Hokkan, Nuriko learns something about Tasuki, Chichiri learns something about himself, and Tasuki tries again.

Row upon row of red paper lanterns spanned the distance between shopfronts, swinging in the warm breeze. Overlapping pools of bright lantern light spilled onto the festival and merrymakers below, imbuing it and them with a dreamy, romantic atmosphere. And high above, the great Silver River flowed across the onyx sky.

Tasuki glanced up at the twinkling band of stars and smiled. This version of Qi Xi he could agree with. Great throngs of people moved to and fro down the long market street, talking and laughing, shopping and eating, and most of all drinking. It was nothing like how his sisters celebrated back home. He would never understand why they had set up an altar and made offerings every year for domestic skills they'd never have since they kept making him do all the household chores for them. At least their dumplings were tasty, even if he did risk a thump on the head for eating them.

"Oh wow! I've never been out in the city at night before," Miaka exclaimed as she looked around in wonder at all the food stalls. "What's this festival called again?"

"Qi Xi. It celebrates the love between the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd." Nuriko watched the girl's eyes light up with every new smell that wafted by and chuckled.

"Yeah, an' girls pray fer sewin' skills an' husbands an' stuff," Tasuki offered, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn't sure what they were waiting for, but he was there to cheer Miaka up so he figured he'd give her the first choice of what to do.

"That sounds a little like Tanabata where I come from." Miaka started off through the crowds, head swiveling this way and that as she examined the desserts and sweets in each passerby's hands. "At least the Weaver Girl and Cowherd part. Look!" She stopped suddenly, pointing across the busy street and nearly tripping both Tasuki and Nuriko.

"What?" Nuriko glanced in the direction she pointed. The look of confusion on his face dissolved into a slack-jawed, glassy-eyed stare, almost a mirror image of Miaka's own expression.

Tasuki barely managed to stop himself from bumping into them. Stepping to the side, he then nearly ran into a festival-goer leading his son through the masses. Waving an apology, Tasuki scowled at Miaka and Nuriko. "Hey, what th' fuck 're yah doin'? Watch where yer goin'!"

"Let's go eat," Miaka intoned and began to shuffle toward the food stall.

"Yeah, let's eat," Nuriko repeated, following closely after.

Tasuki blinked and watched the two lurch through the throng as if in a trance.  _What th' hell?_   _They're eatin' again?_ "But, we just 'ad dinner, didn' we?" he called, but got no response. With a growl, he threaded his way across the street as well.

Miaka jumped up and down, a broad grin on her face. The sleeves of her silk robe fluttered as she flapped her arms in front of the shopkeeper. "I'll take one please!"

"Yeah, yeah! Me too, mister! One for me!" Nuriko waved his own arms, echoing Miaka's enthusiasm. "This will be our dessert," he exclaimed. He leaned conspiratorially toward her, his alto voice shrill.

"Yeah right!" Miaka blurted. Both of them laughed as they watched the older man behind the counter take two magpie-shaped qiaoguo from the display facing the street and place them on small squares of red paper.

"Okay, here you go," the shopkeeper said. He smiled at the delighted looks on their faces as he handed the sweet fried dough treats to them.

Tasuki sighed as Miaka and Nuriko squealed in joy and moved a few paces away from the booth, leaving him to pay the bill as they enjoyed the confections. They might be there to cheer Miaka up, but why did he have to be the only one paying attention to real-world stuff? "Ah, why not? Gimme one too, pops," Tasuki said, plunking three coins into the shopkeep's palm.

"You got it."

Qiaoguo in hand, Tasuki rejoined Miaka and Nuriko.  _I wish Chiri woulda come with us,_  he thought. All three of them had asked the other seishi if they wanted to go to the festival, but every one declined: Hotohori claimed state business, Mitsukake claimed he was going to turn in early, Chiriko claimed he wanted to study in the imperial library, and Tamahome just said no. He hadn't personally seen or talked to Chichiri since the aborted kiss the night before, but Nuriko told him that the monk had declined as well.  _I hope he ain't avoidin' me._  He sighed again.

"I knew you wanted to try it, Tasuki," Miaka snickered. "You just couldn't resist, could you?" A knowing smile crossed her lips as she continued to crunch away on the dough.

"No, you just couldn't resist, could you?" Nuriko smirked at him, dabbing at his lips with the edge of the paper.

Tasuki growled at them. This behavior and speech copying thing they were doing was annoying. "Would you two cut it out?!"

The three of them found an unoccupied wooden bench just outside the stream of people to regroup. Miaka and Nuriko took a place on the bench while Tasuki stood. He looked around as he ate his qiaoguo, gaze flitting from one storefront to the next. At one booth, he watched people purchase beautiful jade necklaces and gemstone earrings, gold and silver rings and silk sashes with elaborately knotted tassels and jade disks hanging from them. Another vendor offering bouquets of summer flowers exuberantly hawked his wares to a crowd of young women who tittered and gossiped with each other as they watched a group of young men pass by.  _Maybe I should get Chiri somethin' while I'm here,_  Tasuki thought.

"This is great!" Miaka declared, mouth full.

The sound of music floated above the din of talking and laughter. Turning, Tasuki saw a trio of musicians at a low stage further down the street. One small woman cradled a pipa in her lap, leaning her head against the body of the instrument as her fingers danced across the strings.  _That lute's as big as she is,_ he snickered to himself. The rhythmic twang of the pipa's silk strings formed the foundation of the melody and the plump woman strumming the konghou to her right took that melody and expounded on it. Hugging the harp between her knees like a child, her nimble fingers plucked deep, mellow chords from the instrument. Setting the tempo for them both was a third woman playing a hengdi. Its haunting trill overlaid the tune, mixing a dream-like, pastoral sentiment into the melody.  _That instrument kinda looks like that Amiboshi guy's flute..._  Tasuki's brow furrowed at the memory of the Seiryuu Warrior falling to his death in the rain-swollen canal before he pushed the thought away.

"Tamahome should have come out with us," Nuriko said as he too watched the musicians play.

Next to him, Miaka choked, spitting out some of the qiaoguo as she coughed.

"Yeah. That guy's been real moody fer some reason," Tasuki added. "'E acts like Miaka dumped 'im er somethin'."  _I wonder if that's got anythin' t' do with Miaka runnin' by last night..._  That would at least partially explain why she all but ignored Tamahome that morning and why he got so angry when he and Nuriko teased him about it. "We better just stay clear o' him fer awhile."

Nuriko scowled up at Tasuki. "Never mind that for now. We're here to enjoy the festival, so let's have fun, okay?" Expression softening, he looked over at Miaka. Clasping her shoulder, he grinned. "It'll be the last free time we'll have for awhile. Right, Miaka?"

"Yeah." She nodded, finally having stopped coughing. She wiped a few stray crumbs out of her lap.

"So, what do I want to eat next?" Nuriko stood and turned this way and that, one slender hand at his brow like he was looking for land from a boat out to sea. He licked his lips at the symphony of aromas assaulting his nose: the sweet honey of fresh melons, the pungent garlic of fried yifu noodles, the bitter tang of soy sauce. He pretended to drool, though he didn't have to try very hard.

"Stop makin' faces! Yah look like a starvin' bum!" Tasuki growled, grabbing Nuriko by the shoulders. The courtier's incessant swaying was making him seasick. A few festival patrons slowed down to watch Nuriko groan forlornly in Tasuki's grip.

Behind them, Miaka shot up from her seat, fist raised. "Okay!" she cried, grinning broadly. "Let's try to have as much fun as we can tonight before we go!"

"Yeah!" Nuriko smiled and followed. He kept pace with her as she started down the market street, looking at the shops. "What do you want to do now, Miaka?"

Tasuki took up the rear of the group, glancing around while trying to avoid knocking into small mobs of happy children running to and fro, wheeling like flocks of birds in flight. He stopped short as one little girl strayed into his path, a porcelain figure of two lovers clutched to her chest. She looked up at him with wide mahogany brown eyes before smiling and darting off to rejoin her friends.  _Chiri's eye_ , he thought. The little girl's eyes reminded him of Chichiri's true eye color, the one hidden by the mask he wore. Tasuki sighed.  _Dammit, I wish 'e was here._

Ahead of them, a large crowd gathered in a circle around a mountain of a man. He was bald but for a thin mustache and tiny goatee. A huge iron pot, half as tall as the man and just as round, stood in front of him. "Come on! Can't anyone here lift something as heavy as this?" he bellowed, smirking. The warm summer breeze pulled at his open vest, revealing a solid wall of muscle for a chest and stomach. He grabbed the rim of the cauldron with his enormous hands and strained to lift it. Biceps the same size as his head flexed with the stress. With a roar, the man raised the pot above him. "No one?" He guffawed at the lack of challengers. "I guess I win then."

Nuriko grinned at Tasuki and Miaka before pushing his way through the man's audience to the center of the circle. With one slender hand, he lifted the man and the iron pot the man held above his head by the seat of the man's pants. "Okay!" Nuriko shouted. He began to turn the hapless strongman on his palm until the man started screaming. "How long can I keep him spinning folks? What do you think, huh?" Nuriko spun the man faster and faster, smiling in triumph to the cheers of the amazed crowd. "Anybody got a guess? What do you say?"

"Put me down!" The huge man's face burned with both embarrassment and motion sickness. Nuriko finally relented, slowing the spin enough that he could set the strongman and his cauldron on the ground without hurting him.

The organizer of the contest stepped out of the audience and into the circle, flanked by two assistants. Their arms were laden with items. "And the girl jumps in and wins!" He took Nuriko's hand and held it up for all to see. The crowd shouted and applauded for a long while before the silk-robed man let go. With a nod to the two young men behind him, they rushed forward and presented Nuriko with a lavish prize: several pieces of carved jade jewelry, a heavy cast-bronze mirror, a delicate porcelain figure of a court lady in elaborate costume, a fan made of colorful pheasant, crane, and peacock feathers, and two bolts of sheer patterned silk that smelled of rosewater and ginger. "Let's have another hand for the strongest woman in Kounan!"

Slipping out of the adoring crowd, Nuriko made his way back to where he'd left Tasuki and Miaka. "Hey look! Check it out! I won a prize!" He beamed and hugged the items to his chest. "I am totally going to make a sash out of this silk. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Alright!" Tasuki clasped Nuriko on the shoulder with a fanged grin. "'Ey, Miaka! Where to next?" He turned to face her and his smile disappeared. "Eh? Miaka?" The girl was gone. "What th' fuck?" he swore, scanning the throng of people dispersing from the contest for any sign of her. "Aw, come  **on**! We fuckin' came out here fer her an' she up an' leaves?!"

"Oh calm down, Tasuki. I'm sure she's fine. She's probably at another food stall near here," Nuriko said, trying as best he could to see around the crowds walking by. "Besides, this place is crawling with soldiers." He nodded toward the far end of the market street. "Let's start in this direction and see if we see her."

Tasuki growled but moved to follow, crossing his arms over his chest. He sidled past another group of young women dressed in fine silk robes. Their dark hair was swept up on top of their heads in elaborate styles and peppered with ornaments of silver and pearl dangling nearly to their shoulders. The cloying sweetness of jasmine perfume hung about them like a cloud. As he walked by, they giggled, never taking their eyes off him. The attention made him uncomfortable and he scowled.

Ahead of him, Nuriko had better luck weaving through the crowd. Stalls for wontons, dumplings, noodles, and more qiaoguo dotted each side of the street, but he couldn't see Miaka among the patrons at any of them. He began to worry that she really had disappeared. Stepping to the side of the thoroughfare, he turned to tell Tasuki when he caught sight of a familiar navy-haired fighter running past in the mob. "Tamahome?"

"Eh? Tama's here?" Tasuki said as he walked up. He scanned the throng.

"Yeah. I just saw Tamahome run by."

Tasuki grinned. "Well, that explains where Miaka went. She prob'ly ran off t' go be with Tamahome. It  **is**  Qi Xi, yah know."

Nuriko snickered. "I guess that means whatever spat they had this morning is over. So," he said, looking up at Tasuki, "what do you want to do now?"

Tasuki cocked his head, a wry bent to his lips. "Hmm..." He looked up and down the length of the festival for several minutes.

The evening was a few hours older than when they'd arrived, but the festivities were far from winding down. If anything, there seemed to be more people milling about. Several enterprising vendors braved the hordes of merrymakers in the center of the street. They called out to one and all the virtues and craftsmanship of their particular style of love pouch. One merchant held up a sample of his wares: a small, cobalt-blue silk bag with a peony embroidered in gold on its side and a matching blue drawstring. The group of girls Tasuki had passed just minutes ago crowded around the peddler, talking and giggling.

"Let's just look around fer awhile," he said finally.

Nuriko raised an eyebrow at his noncommittal attitude. "Okay..." He'd never known Tasuki to equivocate on anything, let alone what he wanted to do. And he certainly didn't expect Tasuki would actually want to remain at the festival now that Miaka had left. Curious, he decided to wait and see what Tasuki had in mind.

They ventured further down the street, making their way past mobs of children trying their luck at games of chance and games of skill. A great cheer rose up from an archery game across the thoroughfare as one young boy managed to hit the center of every target. He beamed and chose a small clay figurine in the shape of Suzaku from a shelf behind the booth's counter to the accolades of his friends.

_He's shopping?_  Nuriko thought, watching Tasuki scrutinize the wares for sale at each stall they passed. The redhead quickly evaluated each object before moving on to the next.  _ **Tasuki**_   _is_ _ **shopping**_ _?_

Tasuki maneuvered around a large group of people overflowing into the market street from a makeshift theater to his right. Glancing over, he saw a carved wooden stage in front of a packed seating area. He paused as the maroon curtain went up to a round of applause from the audience. A sheet of white silk covered the performance area, backlit by several lanterns and glowing brightly. The crash of a gong followed by the wail of a hengdi accompanied the appearance of a colorful shadow puppet of a girl. She walked back and forth across the screen a handful of times before she was soon followed by a boy puppet and an ox. Tasuki smiled and continued on as the narrator began the story of the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd.

Nuriko ducked past an elderly man and his wife, deftly avoiding running into them as he struggled to keep up.  _Where is he going?_

On and on they went down the line of shops: Nuriko dogging Tasuki's steps from several paces back as he moved from store to store.  _Who could he be buying something for?_ His brow furrowed as he lost sight of Tasuki behind a large red banner hanging from a storefront some way ahead. Slipping through another dense throng, he caught a glimpse of blazing vermilion hair in front of one store and relaxed a bit.  _Ah, he must be getting Miaka a gift._ Nuriko smirked as he walked up to the counter. The vendor had several lovely gemstone necklaces and brooches for sale that he wouldn't mind wearing himself. One brooch in particular sported three dainty flowers carved from a copper-colored piece of jade set on a field of carved snowy-white jade leaves. "I thought you didn't like girls," he teased. He watched Tasuki pick up and examine several small pieces of bronze statuary, a handful of gleaming palm-sized bronze mirrors, an ornate brass box with a tiny hinged latch, and countless cast bronze coin charms.

"I don't." Tasuki never looked up from the display counter as he rummaged through the box of charms to the clink of metal on metal.

"You're not looking for something for Miaka?"

"No."

Nuriko stood in confused silence for a time. Tasuki wasn't buying a gift for Miaka? Then who was he shopping for? Tasuki, who he'd never seen leave the palace without magical means or talk to anyone aside from his bandit gang or the balance of the Shichiseishi, who consistently got into petulant shouting matches and fistfights with pretty much anyone anywhere at any time,and constantly and loudly decried women as sneaky, mean, and annoying, wanted to buy a gift for someone. Either he was buying something for himself, which Nuriko found unlikely, sending it back home, which was even more unlikely, or... "I knew it."

"Knew what?" Tasuki glanced up from the display of coins.

"That's so cute!" Nuriko exclaimed. He clapped his hands together as best he could with all the items in his arms. "The big brawny bandit leader has a crush on someone."

Tasuki swallowed hard, glancing around first at the people browsing through the wares near him, then at the throngs of people passing by behind him. No one seemed to be interested in their conversation. "Shuddup, Nuriko. I do  **not** ," he growled and looked back down.

"Oh come on, Red. You can tell me." Nuriko grinned at the deep crimson blush working its way across Tasuki's cheekbones to his ears. "What's he like?"

Tasuki picked up an unassuming bronze coin that had fallen out of the box he dug through onto the silk scarf covering the counter. "I-I don't know what yer talkin' about."

Nuriko sighed. "Don't give me that. You know exactly what I'm talking about."  _Oh, for Suzaku's sake, give it up already._ He leaned toward Tasuki, trying to steal a glimpse of the charm in his hands. His braid slipped off his shoulder. A sneaky grin formed on his lips. "Who is he? Is he cute?" He began shifting the prizes he held to free the movement of one arm.

"I told yah I don't know what th' fuck yer talkin' about." Holding the charm by its edges, Tasuki turned it over and over under the bright lantern light of the booth.  _This's perfect._

Nuriko made a quick grab for the coin, snatching it out of Tasuki's hand. "Then who's this for, hmm?"

"Give it back now, Nuriko," Tasuki snarled.

Nuriko turned this way and that, eluding Tasuki's ever more angry attempts to wrest the item from him. The coin was rather unassuming compared to the other items on the counter. It shone a bright gold as he examined it, the yellowy light bouncing off its polished rim and reliefs. The smooth, round edges felt cool despite the warm night and the substantial heft of it in his hand belied its small size. The back read "bi xie," an invocation to protect the bearer from evil spirits. Both characters rose in shining relief over a deep black field. Turning the charm over, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. On the coin's front were stamped in relief, also on a black field, the I Ching hexagram Li, a stylized image of Suzaku, and the representation of two of Suzaku's constellations. One for the constellation Tasuki and the other for... "Chichiri?" Nuriko stopped and looked up at the scowling redhead. " **Our**  Chichiri?" he asked in utter disbelief. It had to be someone else. "You have a thing for our Chichiri?"

"Chichiri? One of the celestial warriors who serves the Priestess of Suzaku?" The old shopkeeper looked up from the hand mirror he was wrapping at the commotion. The young woman who had purchased the mirror also looked over, as did two other patrons at the other end of the counter.

Tasuki could feel the eyes on him and his face flushed hotter. "Heh, yeah, t-those celestial warriors're great, aren't they? Here's hopin' th' priestess summons Suzaku real soon an' saves Kounan, right?" Savagely, he grabbed the charm out of the shocked courtier's hand.

"Oh, yes. Praise Suzaku, his priestess, and her warriors." The old man smiled as Tasuki plunked a few coins in his hand for payment before stuffing the charm in his coat pocket. "Thank you," the man said and turned back to his work.

Tasuki seized Nuriko's arm and hauled him down a small alleyway between two nearly deserted jewelry booths. They were well out of earshot of the vendor and patrons at the stall they'd just left. He let go and spun on his heel to face him, eyes narrowed to slits, earrings swinging wildly at his jaw. "What th' fuck, Nuriko?!"

"Oh, stop it with the indignant act," Nuriko said bluntly, reshuffling his prize items in his grip. "I've known you were since I first met you."

Tasuki backed off his anger a bit in surprise at Nuriko's words, but didn't let it go completely. "What? How?" He scowled.

"Woman's intuition," Nuriko proclaimed with a smile. "A lady just knows these things."

"Yer not a lady. Yer a cross-dresser."

Nuriko frowned himself. "Maybe so, but I still know a guy who likes other guys when I see one."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tasuki looked away down the quiet, deserted alley, scowl deepening. The diffuse light from the lanterns hanging over the festival street a few paces away gave the hair falling over his nose a golden aura.

With a deep sigh, Nuriko shook his head. "You are so transparent, Tasuki." Holding up a hand, he raised two fingers. "First, you don't shop and second, both of your constellations are on that coin." Tasuki didn't reply, only continued to stare off down the alleyway. Several moments went by without a response and Nuriko sighed louder. "Do you even know if he's interested in  **men** , let alone  **you**?"

An image of the desire in Chichiri's eyes flashed through Tasuki's mind, sending a thrill down his spine and bringing a lascivious grin to his lips. "Th' look on 'is face last night seemed pretty damn interested."

Nuriko's eyes widened in horror. "What?! You  **idiot**! You slept with him?!" He smacked Tasuki in the arm, not bothering to check his strength.

" **OW**!" Tasuki's focus whipped back to Nuriko immediately and he bared his fangs. He cradled his excruciatingly painful right bicep. "What th' fuck?! No! Fuck no!" He glared, gingerly massaging through his coat sleeve what was going to be a massive bruise the next day. "Not that I don't really,  **really**  wanna..." he admitted, continuing to eye Nuriko warily. "No. I tried t' kiss 'im."

"You tried to kiss a guy you've known for less than a week without finding out if he liked you first? You  **are**  an idiot." Nuriko rolled his eyes.

Tasuki growled. "Well, what th' fuck d'  **you**  suggest, then?"

"Tell him you like him. Right now, before you do anything else stupid."

"Tell 'im I like 'im? Yah don't think me tryin' t' kiss 'im woulda done that already?"

"Look," Nuriko said, "I don't know what's going on in that brain of yours, but do this the right way if you're going to do it." He looked Tasuki straight in the eyes. "If you end up pushing him away and ultimately prevent Miaka from summoning Suzaku because you have no sense of restraint, I will hurt you, Tasuki." The tone of his voice lightened as he smiled but the threat remained. "You don't want me to  **hurt**  you,  **do**  you?"

" **Fine** ," Tasuki spat, "I'll tell 'im." He put his hand protectively over the bruised area on his arm. "An' I ain't gonna mess anythin' up."

"Good." Sunny smile still in place, Nuriko maneuvered the leery bandit back down the alley toward the festival. When they reached the market street and the jubilant throng of merrymakers, he pushed Tasuki out into the crowd. "Now get going, lover boy," he called as Tasuki was swept away in the sea of people.

\- o - o - o -

A large gibbous moon peeked over the palace roofs. Its light drowned out much of the Silver River as it rose, but it left sparkling Vega and equally bright Altair easily visible. Much of the palace lay deserted; the Qi Xi festivities going on in the city marketplace drew many of the courtiers, servants, and attendants away. Chichiri almost regretted staying behind while the others went to enjoy themselves, but with the meeting to finalize the route the Shichiseishi would take to Hokkan that morning, the outfitting of their ship scheduled for his oversight the next day, and anything else he needed to do potentially cropping up at any time, he needed this time alone.

Leaning against the carved wooden balustrade edging the empty veranda, Chichiri gazed out into the moon-soaked grounds. The scent of jasmine wafted through the warm Kounan evening. His conversation with Miaka earlier that afternoon had stayed with him all day, never straying far from his thoughts. He hadn't wanted to keep things from her, but it wouldn't have done any good to tell her the whole truth either. If he had told her of the real circumstances behind Hikou's death, of his suicide attempts and recurring nightmares, his deep-seated self-loathing and the crushing loneliness he felt, the entire quest to summon Suzaku and save Kounan would fail. She and the rest of the Suzaku Seven depended on him to be their compass and their anchor. Perhaps he wanted it that way to some degree, but it was becoming harder and harder to keep everything to himself, not to mention maintain his distance and his objectivity. And it was all because of him.  _Tasuki._

He saw in the boisterous redhead a connection to his past, to the days before the flood and Hikou's death. Tasuki symbolized all that he had thought long extinguished in himself and being near him brought all those dormant feelings and emotions rushing to the surface. Under Taiitsukun's tutelage, Chichiri had been able to put the pieces of his shattered soul back together and bury everything that wasn't necessary as a Warrior of Suzaku and protector of the priestess. Years of strict discipline and intense training kept him from continuing to attempt suicide, narrowing his scope to a single-minded devotion to his mission. And, concealing it all was a feigned silliness and the mask he wore even now. Taking the magical object in his hand, he stared down at it. He saw not only the smiling face he showed the world but also the restraint it had represented for so long. The rekindling of this passion within him was also reawakening all the things he had tried to forget. His carefully constructed façade was beginning to crumble and that scared him more than anything.

"Hey."

He started at the deep tenor voice that broke into his thoughts. His bangs bobbed as he whipped his head toward the sound. Tasuki stood not a hair's breadth from him and his heart jumped into his throat.  _How?_ His face flushed and he reflexively looked the younger man's lithe body up and down.  _How is he here the moment I think of him?_ "H-hey, no da," he stammered when he finally remembered how to breathe. "I thought you went out to the festival with Miaka and Nuriko, na no da."

"Well, we got there alright, but then Miaka took off somewhere an' then Nuriko wandered off, so I decided t' hell with it an' came back here," he lied, half-smirking at Chichiri's wide-eyed appraisal. Chichiri's lips were parted in shock and so close that he was tempted to finish what they'd started last night.  _Suzaku, I want yah, but_ _I gotta do this right._  The thought of Nuriko doing worse to him than just bruising his arm for scaring Chichiri away was not appealing in the least. He folded his arms over the wooden balustrade in a mirror image of Chichiri's own stance.

"Hmm."

Silence prevailed once more as the crickets hidden in the bushes just beyond the veranda returned to their lazy song.  _G_ _uess he's not tryin' t' avoid me..._ Inclining his head to his left, Tasuki watched out of the corner of his eye as Chichiri returned his gaze to the gardens. Moonlight painted the bridge of his nose, cheeks, and chin, revealing to Tasuki the slightly raised scar tissue that radiated from Chichiri's unseen left eye. He'd witnessed it twice before: briefly on their ill-fated mission to Kutou and again before Miaka's thankfully unsuccessful drowning attempt. Yet, Chichiri had never spoken of it. He didn't want to pry, but he did wonder why he chose to conceal it. To Tasuki, scars and wounds meant life, that you were alive and vital; they showed honor and bravery, trophies of battles won and enemies conquered. He'd never met anyone who wanted to hide that before and it intrigued him. What would a monk have to hide?

"Yah know, I bet we could see those fireworks they're gonna set off from 'ere," he said, trying to break Chichiri's nearly reverent quiet.

Chichiri nodded, eyes drawn to Vega and Altair.  _Why him? Why now?_ Perfumy jasmine mingled with the familiar scent of leather and earth as Tasuki slid closer. The movement pressed their arms together in a comfortable heat that sent an involuntary shudder down his spine.  _Why bring him into my life now?_ he thought. He couldn't abandon his obligations and god-given duty without guilt and giving Tasuki, and ultimately himself, false hope would be just as harmful as an utter rebuff.

Tasuki watched Chichiri's face grow progressively darker. His smooth brow furrowed as the minutes went by, his warm and inviting lips curving into a frown. The moonlight accentuated the change in his demeanor. "'Ey, Chiri. Yah okay?" Tasuki asked after some time. He clenched his hands into fists as he fought the urge to place a hand on his arm. "Somethin' happen while I was gone?"

"No, no," Chichiri replied. He shook his head before giving Tasuki a small yet unconvincing smile. "Just thinking about a conversation I had with Miaka this afternoon, no da." He looked down just as the mask held so long in his hand vanished, its magic finally evaporating with disuse, but he hesitated to conjure another. If he began trying to avoid Tasuki now, the implications for the mission to Hokkan and to summon Suzaku seemed dire. Kounan, and Miaka in particular, couldn't afford disunity among her celestial warriors. Any perceived weakness could be interpreted by Kutou and the Seiryuu as an opportunity to strike.

"Miaka? Whad'd she say?" Tasuki noted the disappearance of the mask as he watched him. He was a bit surprised that Chichiri hadn't conjured another to take its place. Did he really trust him that much? Even after last night?

"She's confused, no da." Chichiri laced his fingers as he looked up and back into the silvered gardens. His eye followed a pair of snow-white swans as they slid across the glass-like surface of the pond just beyond his reach.  _So am I, no da._ He felt Tasuki's arm move against his, accompanied by the soft whisper of his coat and the click of his boot heels as he shifted his stance.  _So am I._ "Mostly about her friend and the Seiryuu, but also about her relationship with Tamahome, na no da."

Tasuki turned his head toward Chichiri as he moved, gaze tracing the line that melded his ebony coat into Chichiri's ivory tunic. "I figgered somethin' funny was goin' on. She blew 'im off real bad earlier," he said, gaze moving slowly up his arm and over his shoulder. His eyes lingered for a moment where Chichiri's jaw met his neck, just below his ear. In his mind, Tasuki could hear him moan, a breathy sound against the side of his face as he kissed him there, tongue eagerly exploring the soft flesh of his earlobe... Heart racing, he took a deep breath and sternly reminded himself he wasn't there to fantasize. He continued upward to his face before settling on his eye. "But we saw 'im at th' festival. An' Miaka took off just 'fore me an' Nuriko saw 'im, so they musta made up er somethin'."

"Perhaps, no da."  _If only it were that easy, no da,_ he thought.  _For both of us..._

Silence reigned once more between them. "Yah shoulda come with us," Tasuki said finally, turning his gaze back out into the quiet gardens. "Lots o' people wanderin' around, but there was music an' shows an' people sellin' stuff." He reached into his pocket and rummaged around for the coin charm. His fingers brushed against the cool metal and taking it in his hand, he held it tightly.  _How th' fuck am I s'pose'ta do this?_

Sex he understood. The rather frequent trips to the brothels in Souun with Kouji had taught him much, even if on only one of those trips had he been with a man. Lust and passion, the feel of another willing body under his, the rush of release: those things came naturally to him and he prided himself on his ability. But he was totally out of his depth with this mushy relationship stuff. He yearned to fuck Chichiri with all of his being and he had no clue what would happen after he did, but the need to be around him all the time, the overwhelming giddiness he felt in his presence, and the intense desire he had to protect him were things he'd never experienced with a prostitute or anyone else before.

"Nuriko gotta prize fer winnin' a strength contest, too."

Chichiri chuckled, a wry smile on his lips. "Well, that's not very fair, is it, no da?"

"He picked th' other guy up an' got 'im spinnin' 'round on 'is hand like a fuckin' top." Tasuki smiled himself as he heard Chichiri laugh aloud and turned back to him to see a wide grin spread across his face. "Th' guy was screamin' so loud yah'd think 'e was gonna fuckin' die." He kept his focus on that one beautiful eye, tracing the gentle slant it made toward the side of his face. "By th' time Nuriko put 'im down," he said, nearly beaming, "'e was so fuckin' dizzy yah just knew 'e was gonna puke."

Chichiri shook his head, still laughing. "That sounds exactly like something he'd do, no da."

"Called 'im 'The Strongest Woman in Kounan' when 'e won. They didn't even notice 'e was a guy. An' they gave 'im all this girly stuff, too."

"I wish I'd been there to see that, no da."

A nervousness Tasuki hadn't expected flooded his stomach. His heart beat faster as he turned the coin over and over in his palm. "I wish yah'd been there, too," he whispered.

Chichiri's laughter died away as he turned to Tasuki, his brow furrowed and his lips slightly parted.  _Please don't..._

"Chiri, I gotta tell yah somethin'–"

A deep, resonant boom cut through the moonlit night, effectively silencing him. The pair of swans on the pond leapt into the air in a cacophony of honking and flapping that reverberated across the water and the palace buildings. As the birds flew toward the north, a bright flash of crimson light exploded in the sky high above the treetops followed by a deafening crack. A shower of sparks fell earthward just as another bass rumble sounded and another flash lit up the garden with an emerald hue. More and more fireworks thundered into the sky from the direction of the marketplace.

Chichiri let out a small sigh of relief. "It's getting late," he said in the relative quiet between blasts. Standing up, he broke contact with the warmth of Tasuki's arm. The spot on his own arm where they'd touched seemed cold in the balmy night air. "I have an early day tomorrow, so I'm going to turn in, no da."  _I'm sorry,_ he thought as Tasuki looked at him in confusion. Words said in anger and in passion were nearly impossible to take back after being said. There could be nothing but broken promises and broken hearts if he let him finish that statement. With a word, he conjured another mask and smoothed it over his face, hiding his wistful look under its smile. "Good night, Tasuki, no da." Turning toward the guest palace, he walked away down the veranda.

A deep, guttural growl of frustration worked its way up from his chest as Tasuki watched him go. The bursting fireworks painted Chichiri's body in a succession of hues. He clamped his hand around the charm in his pocket, the rounded edges of it biting into his palm. He'd been here before: Chichiri's long ponytail swaying across his back as he walked away, the kesa around his shoulder rippling against his body. And Tasuki felt just as much in over his head now as he did when he watched him go that first night. "Dammit!" He slammed his fist down on the wooden balustrade in front of him with a powerful and resounding thud.

\- o - o - o -

Flocks of gulls cried out in the warm mid-afternoon sun as they circled around the ship's bare masts. The ship's captain directed a handful of men with a list of last-minute preparations for their departure the next day. Sailors shouted to each other as they crossed and recrossed the deck, checking over the furled sails and rigging. The clank of armor rang throughout the harbor as soldiers rushed about carrying all manner of items to be loaded. Chichiri rifled through a crate one of them had brought onto the deck, searching for the week's worth of salted pork the manifest in his hand clearly showed was supposed to be there. A stiff breeze blew in over the canal, bringing with it the muddy mustiness of the water and the familiar grassy smell of hemp rope as it ruffled his bangs. This was the third item today that had been mismarked. He stifled a yawn behind his hand.

Miaka, Nuriko, and Tamahome had left for Tamahome's village hours ago and he still wasn't done inventorying the provisions. Chichiri knew it was his duty to oversee the packing of the ship and he would see it through, but he would much rather put his things in his cabin and go down into the marketplace for awhile.  _But I have to find that salted pork, no da._ He sighed.

"Hello, Chichiri. How is the outfitting coming along?"

Chichiri turned to see Chiriko standing just steps from where he stood waist-deep in boxes and crates. He smiled. "Hello, Chiriko, no da. It's going about as well as you'd expect, no da."

"I see. Do you need any help?" Chiriko's green eyes sparkled with excitement. The hem of his teal silk coat flapped in the breeze and he tucked his small hands into its ample sleeves.

"No, no. I only have a few more crates to go through, no da. Thank you for the offer though, na no da."

The pounding of boot heels on wooden planking floated up from the staircase leading belowdecks. It sounded like someone was running up the stairs. Both Chichiri and Chiriko looked toward the sound in time to see Tasuki burst from the doorway.

"Hey, Chiriko!" he yelled as he hit the top step. Tasuki stopped short as his gaze found Chiriko before focusing behind him on Chichiri. "Oh. Hey." He never took his eyes from Chichiri even as he addressed Chiriko. "Yah want me t' help yah put yer stuff in yer room?"

Chiriko looked first at Tasuki, then following his line of sight, at Chichiri before returning his focus to Tasuki. "Yes, please. One of the soldiers carried my trunk onto the ship and put it over there by the gangway." With a nod, Tasuki continued past the pair toward the assortment of cartons and trunks still left to be distributed to their proper places in the lower decks. The wind caught the hem of his coat and ruffled his hair. "It's the one with the bronze padlock on the front," Chiriko called after him. "Excuse me, Chichiri." He gave Chichiri a small nod before following after Tasuki.

Chichiri watched the two of them walk away, a wistful smile on his lips. He shook his head and returned to his cataloging.

\- o - o - o -

"Alright, which one 's it again?" Tasuki asked. It seemed that nearly every trunk that had been put on the ship had a bronze padlock. He cast a glance back at where Chichiri rummaged through yet another box.  _Why'd yah walk away last night?_  Tasuki thought as he watched him prop himself on the lip of the crate with one arm before leaning into it. The breeze pulled at his ponytail, spilling long blue strands down his shoulders and back.

Why did he feel so differently about Chichiri than he did about any of the other people he'd slept with, or wanted to? What exactly was it about him that made Tasuki want to take that beating he'd gotten in Kutou? He wanted to protect him and Miaka, he knew that, but it didn't really explain why he'd fought so long and so hard against such overwhelming odds. And what was it that made him leave Chichiri's chamber that night they'd nearly kissed without protest? He would never have given up an opportunity like that before, especially when he knew the other party was even halfway interested. And why was he even listening to Nuriko about this whole "doing it right" thing, aside from threat of injury?

"It's that one there." The sound of Chiriko's voice wrenched Tasuki's attention back to the matter at hand. Chiriko pointed to a modest black-lacquered chest painted with pleasant pastoral scenes in cinnabar.

Looking toward where Chiriko pointed, Tasuki hesitated a moment, brow furrowing. The trunk sat atop a short stack of crates closest to the ship's railing.  _Fuck._ Turning back, he saw Chiriko watching him expectantly, a smile on his face. He couldn't beg off now. Not when he'd been the one to offer his help.  _Fuck._  He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and wiped his sweaty hands on the linen of his pants.  _Alright, Tasuki, yah can do this,_ he thought. Slowly, he turned back to the pile of boxes and keeping his focus on Chiriko's trunk, he waded in.

Tasuki picked his way past box after box, trying hard to avoid looking down over the side. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and he wiped his forehead with the back of his coat sleeve.  _This 's th'_ _ **last**_ _fuckin' time I get on a boat._ _ **Any**_ _kinda boat._ _ **Ever**_ _._  Attempting to drown out the cry of the gulls and shouts of the sailors on the pier below, he focused on the heavy sound of his inhalations and exhalations. He reached out and put a hand on the trunk. He let out a halfway-relieved sigh. Now he just had to get the thing down without paying attention to the harbor below or tripping on the other crates. He grasped the bronze handles on either side of the trunk and rested his forehead on the edge of its lid. Movement and the glint of metal out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.  _Huh?_  Temporarily forgetting his fear, Tasuki looked down over the side of the boat toward the dock.

He could make out the shape of a person behind a stack of boxes on the pier. As two dock workers walked past, it ducked down out of sight.  _What th' fuck's that guy doin'?_  He raised an eyebrow as the person popped up again and looked around, head whipping this way and that. He sidled along behind the screen of chests and trunks only to stop behind a rather large crate Tasuki knew held some of the rations Hotohori had given them for the trip.  _Wait a minute..._ The person looked around again then began to remove the lid. "Hey you!" he roared.

Chichiri's head jerked up at the sound of Tasuki's shout. He watched him leap easily over the tumult of crates and tear off down the gangway. Chichiri shot to his feet. "Tasuki!" he yelled and started after him.

"What's going on, Chichiri? Tasuki just–" Chiriko fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as he watched Chichiri dash across the deck.

"Chichiri, what's wrong?" Mitsukake cut Chiriko off as he reached the top step of the stairway to the lower decks, brow furrowed. "I heard shouting," he called after Chichiri as the monk reached the top of the gangway.

"I don't know, no da." Chichiri looked down over the side of the ship, searching for Tasuki. Catching a glimpse of orange streaking down the pier, Chichiri sprinted after him. "Stay here, na no da," he threw over his shoulder.

\- o - o - o -

"Stop, you!" Tasuki bellowed, fangs bared in a snarl. He leapt to the wooden pier from halfway up the gangway, landing with a loud thud before he was up and running again. The person behind the crates dropped the lid and took off down the pier. "Yer not gonna get away!" His divine speed quickly closed the distance between him and his quarry. Instinctively he reached for the tessen slung across his back. Dock workers and sailors ran for cover as he sped past and he hesitated.  _I can't flame all these people..._ He growled. Clenching his fist, he left the weapon in its holster.

Ahead of them, the pier ended abruptly out over the wide and still rain-swollen canal. The person he pursued stopped short at the edge. He looked down into the swirling water before turning back to face Tasuki. "Don't kill me, Warrior of Suzaku! I wasn't stealing from you!" he cried, bringing a vambrace-clad arm to his armored chest in salute. It was the same salute given to the Shichiseishi and the emperor of Kounan.

"What th' fuck?! Yer one o' our soldiers?!" Tasuki shouted, eyes wide. He stopped several paces in front of the soldier. "Why th' fuck were yah sneakin' 'round those boxes?" Crossing his arms over his chest, he scowled.

"I'm getting out of here," the soldier shot back. "Kounan isn't safe anymore. I'm going to Hokkan and getting away from this damned place while I still can."

"What th' fuck are yah talkin' about?"

"Kutou has thousands upon thousands of troops all massed at the border where my unit is stationed. Everyday, groups of soldiers dressed in black armor cross into Kounan, destroying villages and farmland." He took a step toward Tasuki. "Don't think those raiders aren't Kutou soldiers. Those savages don't just burn crops and houses. They kill every man and boy, rape every woman and girl, and steal everything that isn't too heavy to carry. They're butchers!"

"An' yah think you'll be spared 'cause you'll be in Hokkan?" Tasuki growled. "Kutou ain't gonna stop till every country's ground under their heel. Sure, you'll miss 'em destroyin' Kounan, but then what?" His eyes narrowed to slits. "Yah fuckin'  **coward**!"

"Suzaku isn't coming to save us now! The summoning ceremony failed and now there's no way to call Suzaku to help us!" The soldier clenched his fists. "I heard that from someone in the palace, so stop acting like you don't know!"

"Yeah, th' ceremony failed! Yeah, we can't call Suzaku that way now! But that ain't th' only way t' do it, yah asshole!" Tasuki snorted in disgust. "What th' fuck  **is it**  with people givin' up so fuckin' soon?" he muttered.

Chichiri saw Tasuki standing in front of a young Kounan soldier several paces ahead of him down the pier. As he approached, he watched the angry teenager look at Tasuki for a moment, brow furrowed in suspicion. Chichiri stopped a few paces behind Tasuki just as the soldier spoke.

"There is?"

Returning to his tirade, Tasuki took a menacing step toward the soldier. "What are yah? Deaf? That's what I fuckin'  **said**!" He growled again. "Yah make me fuckin'  **sick**! Kounan's yer fuckin' country fer Suzaku's sake!" Drawing himself up to his full height, he stared the man down. "We've all got somebody we wanna protect, somebody we wanna keep safe no matter what, so be a man an' protect 'em like yer s'posed to! Now get th' fuck outta here 'fore I kick yer ass inta that canal!"

_Tasuki..._  Chichiri watched Tasuki in awe for a moment. His vehemence surprised him.

"Yes, sir!" Eyes wide, the soldier scrambled past the furious redhead, giving him a wide berth before sprinting back down the pier the way he'd come.

"Fuckin' asshole kid," Tasuki mumbled to himself. The breeze tossed his hair into his eyes and across his nose as he turned to go back down the pier himself. He stopped short. His stomach jumped into his throat. "Chiri..."  _'E came after me?_

"Well, that's certainly one way to motivate people, no da," Chichiri chuckled, a wry smile on his lips. "I doubt the army will have trouble with him again, no da." He motioned for Tasuki to go ahead and fell in step next to him. "So, what was that all about, no da?"

"Some fuckin' kid was gonna hitch a ride t' Hokkan t' get away from war with Kutou," Tasuki said, arms still crossed. "'E said somebody in th' palace told 'im 'bout th' summonin' ceremony failin'."

"Hmm."

He turned to look at Chichiri as they walked. The brows of his mask furrowed as the edges of his perpetual smile dipped into a frown. The wind pulled at his kesa. "So what if people know 'bout it? That kid's gonna spread it around we can summon Suzaku anyhow," Tasuki said. "Don't worry so damn much."

"I hope you're right, no da. We can't afford a loss of morale, no da."

"Damn, yer depressin'. Why'd yah come down here anyway?" he asked, turning to Chichiri and giving him a roguish grin. "Worried 'bout me?" Tasuki snickered as a hint of red spread across Chichiri's pale cheeks.

Chichiri cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the pier before them. "We should let Mitsukake and Chiriko know everything's alright, no da."

Tasuki also looked off down the pier and smiled to himself.

\- o - o - o -

Tasuki blanched upon reaching the bottom of the gangway. His eyes widen in horror as he glanced down over the side of the pier. "Ah, fuck." He swallowed hard. Chichiri started up the gangway without him and he grabbed his shoulder in panic. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he quickly looked up into the sky, heart racing. "Don't go."

Chichiri tensed at the touch, an electric spark running down his spine. He turned back, brow furrowed slightly. Tasuki, usually so brash and self-assured, trembled where he stood. His grip was so tight that his knuckles stood out white against the tan of his skin.  _Why?_ Tasuki shifted nervously back and forth. He looked more vulnerable and young than Chichiri had ever witnessed.  _Why do I feel this way about you..._ Standing there, watching him like that, Chichiri felt both deep longing and a deep sadness.  _...when I can't have you?_ With a sigh, he pushed the thoughts aside and gave Tasuki a wry smile. "You got down here by yourself, no da."

"Yer fuckin' evil, yah know that?" He clung to Chichiri's arm as if it were life itself.

Chichiri winced. Chuckling softly, he shook his head. "Alright. I'll help you out, but I refuse to carry you, no da."

Tasuki squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead on the hand he'd put on Chichiri's shoulder. He let Chichiri lead him up the gangway, one small step at a time. Somewhere above him, he could hear hard-soled shoes on wood, the creak of hemp ropes in the stiff breeze, and the plaintive cry of gulls. He breathed in deeply, focusing on the feel of the soft and warm linen under his fingers and the familiar scent of Chichiri around him. Under any other circumstances, he would be much too aroused by how close they were to really notice the calm confidence Chichiri exuded. But, blind and anxious, Tasuki reveled in it.  _Reminds me a lot o' th' old boss,_ he thought and let out an uneven but contented sigh.

"Chichiri, Tasuki. Is everything alright?" Mitsukake asked as the two men reached the deck of the ship. He looked back and forth between the monk and the redhead clinging to him. Chiriko stood next to him, mirroring Mitsukake's concerned expression.

"Everything's fine, no da. Tasuki just decided he needed to scare the wits out of one of our soldiers, na no da." He chuckled as Tasuki's head jerked up, his eyes flying open with a snort of indignation.

"What?!" Tasuki scowled, fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth. Removing his hand from Chichiri's shoulder, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Shuddup, Chichiri! Th' guy was desertin' 'is post an' tryin' t' sneak outta th' fuckin' country!"

"This isn't a good omen." Chiriko stepped forward and looked up at the three taller men. "Even one of Kounan's soldiers attempting to desert could signal weakness to our enemies."

Mitsukake crossed his arms over his broad chest and frowned.

"Ah, fer Suzaku's sake, stop yer fuckin' worryin'." Tasuki looked back and forth between the scholar, the healer, and the monk. "Do yah get together an' decide ev'ry mornin' how yer all gonna act fer th' day er somethin'? That kid's goin' straight back to 'is post. I made damn sure o' that." He looked to each man for a reaction to his statement, but he found none. The same disconcerted look graced their faces in turn. Rolling his eyes, Tasuki threw up his hands and started for the pile of crates he'd left earlier. "Fine, do whatcha fuckin' want. I'm takin' Chiriko's stuff below like I said I would," he threw back over his shoulder.

"We should be especially vigilant from here on," Chiriko said as the three of them watched the irritated redhead wade hesitantly through the boxes and grab Chiriko's trunk. "If war does become inevitable, the morale of the populace will be of utmost importance."

Mitsukake looked down. "I agree. Hope can be the difference between a person's will to live or die." He glanced up at Chichiri, looking for a response and raised an eyebrow.

Chichiri only nodded, eyes following Tasuki across the ship's deck to the stairway belowdecks. A frown graced Tasuki's lips. His unruly hair was tossed about his handsome face by the wind. As he stomped down the stairs and disappeared into the deep shadow, Chichiri sighed.

Mitsukake and Chiriko turned toward the stairway in unison before turning to the distracted monk.

"If you'll excuse me," Chiriko said, exchanging a silent look with Mitsukake, "I need to direct Tasuki where to put my things." He gave both older seishi a smile before he walked off.

Shaking his head, Chichiri looked up at the position of the now-late-afternoon sun. "I need to get the inventory completed before we leave tomorrow, no da." Bringing his focus back down to Mitsukake, he was surprised to see the healer looking at him already. "I'll see you later, Mitsukake, no da." With a smile, he headed toward the almost-forgotten stack of crates he had been searching earlier that afternoon.

"Of course," Mitsukake said. He watched Chichiri for a moment before he moved toward the stairway and the resumption of his own unpacking.

\- o - o - o -

"It is beyond comprehension. Those poor children..." Hotohori shook his head, eyes downcast. Next to him, Chichiri mirrored his look of shock and sadness.

Miaka watched the two men react to the news of Tamahome's family's death, her brow furrowed. She clasped her hands in front of her. Warm morning sunshine bathed the city harbor in a golden glow. It was a sharp contrast to the somber mood now enveloping them.

"'Ey, Tamahome!"

The three of them glanced up from their place on the pier at the sound of Tasuki's voice. He stood on the deck of the ship, a fanged grin on his face. His arms were crossed and a light breeze tousled his hair.

"You look exhausted. Whatcha been doin', eh? Havin' a little too much  **fun**?" He guffawed at Tamahome's irked expression. A smirk of victory crossed his face, but just as quickly, it turned to a look of terror. Tamahome rushed toward Tasuki and grabbed his leather coat, hauling him bodily to the wooden bulwarks around the ship's main deck. Tasuki struggled to free himself, kicking and fighting against both Tamahome and the panic rising in him. "Nooo!" Tasuki cried. He clamped his hands down on the rail with all his might as Tamahome tried to push him overboard.

"Let them be for now," Hotohori said, watching as Tamahome grinned and smacked Tasuki in the head before relenting and letting him stand.

Chichiri watched Tasuki take a few hasty steps back from the side and rub the back of his head. Tasuki frowned and a look of embarrassment played on his face. "I'll tell Tasuki about it a little later, no da. I think Tamahome likes his reckless cheerfulness, na no da."

"I suppose." Hotohori smiled. "That's fine."

Chichiri sighed. If he and Tasuki had met years ago, in another time, another life, then maybe... He started as Tasuki glanced down over the rail at him. Tasuki's frown evaporated, replaced by a beautiful, if crooked, fanged smile. He waved down to him.

_Suzaku, why are you doing this to me?_  Chichiri's heart hurt as he waved back and looked away.

"Hotohori." The two men returned their attention to Miaka. She looked up at the emperor. "Please be careful, Hotohori. I don't know when the enemy will show up here again."

He smiled. "Do not worry about me, Miaka. You must all stay alert and on your guard."

"I'll be fine now," she said, her eyes full of determination. "I finally decided to fight."

"Miaka..." Hotohori regarded her for a long moment before he spoke again. "Take this sword with you, Miaka." He held the ornate sword, sheathed in its cinnabar-hued lacquered scabbard, out to her. Its gilded hilt shone in the sunlight, rainbows of iridescent colors flowing across the inlaid mother-of-pearl surface of the sword's cross-guard.

"What?" Miaka gaped as she looked down at it, then up at Hotohori's face. "But that's the sword Taiitsukun gave to you," she said, taking it very gently into her hands.

"I cannot go along with you on this quest. So, I am committing my strength into this sword and entrusting it to you. If anything should go wrong, use it to save yourself."

Hugging the sword to her chest, she smiled. "Thank you, Hotohori. Thank you. I promise to take good care of it."

The sound of creaking hemp rope and the shouts of sailors on the ship's deck heralded their imminent departure. Chichiri guided Miaka to the gangway before following after. Above them, the massive canvas sails rose up the towering fore-, main-, and mizzenmasts, their bamboo battens clacking. Two young sailors rushed Miaka and Chichiri up on deck before pulling the gangplank aboard and stowing it against the bulwarks.

"Take care of yourself," Hotohori called as the sails caught the morning breeze and began to pull the ship away from the dock.

Miaka, flanked by the balance of her celestial warriors, waved to Hotohori, still clutching his holy sword. "Until we meet again," she shouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 5
> 
> **Silver River** → Chinese name for the Milky Way  
>  **The Legend of the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd** → A mortal young boy (cowherd), with only his magical cow for company, sees the immortal weaver goddess taking a bath at the riverside. Sneaking over, her takes her clothes, forcing her to stay on Earth. They marry and love each other very much, eventually having children. The magical cow dies and instructs the cowherd to keep his hide for emergencies. Word of their union eventually gets back to the god and goddess of the heavens, the Jade Emperor and Empress, and they are not happy. The Jade Emperor sends his warriors to bring the weaver goddess back to the heavens when the cowherd was not home. Finding his wife gone, the cowherd dons the magic cowhide, takes his children, and goes after the weaver goddess. He manages to catch up to the weaver goddess at the shore of the Silver River and wades in after her. The Jade Empress uses her hairpin to turn the river into a churning torrent, preventing the cowherd from following. The weaver goddess and cowherd were so heartbroken they stood at opposite sides of the river, pining after the other. Eventually, the Jade Emperor and Empress relented and let the couple meet one day a year. On this day, magpies from Earth would fly up and make a bridge of their bodies across the Silver River for the weaver goddess and cowherd to meet each other.  
>  **Qiaoguo** → thin dough made of oil, flour, sugar, and honey and pressed into shapes relevant to Qi Xi (when it is traditionally served) before being fried to a golden color  
>  **Pipa** → 4-string Chinese lute played with the fingernails of the right hand  
>  **Konghou** → Chinese harp; the strings are folded over to create two parallel rows  
>  **Hengdi** → Chinese flute played horizontally like modern flutes  
>  **Love Pouch** → silk bag, usually meant to be filled with perfume and worn on one's person, exchanged between lovers (idea came about due to perfume pouches being intimate objects)  
>  **Li** → a hexagram in the I Ching symbolizing fire  
>  **Fore-, Main-, and Mizzenmasts** → the forward-most, center, and rear-most masts on a three-masted ship  
>  **Batten** → a thin strip of wood inserted in a sail to keep it flat  
>  **Souun** → western capital of Kounan, located in the valley between Mount Reikaku and neighboring Mount Kaou


	6. Knocking on Forbidden Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Shichiseishi sail toward Hokkan, the delicate balance Chichiri has struggled to maintain threatens to shatter.

"So, how long is this journey supposed to take, Chiriko?" Miaka asked as both stood at the rail of the ship's quarterdeck. The trailing ends of each ribbon around her odangos fluttered as a steady breeze played with her bound hair. Ahead of them, the canal stretched out to the horizon, a sparkling stripe under the early afternoon sun. To either side rose steep, rounded mountains covered with thick green forest.

"If we continue at this pace, we should reach Hokkan in another four days." He looked up at her, his eyes alight. "This vessel is magnificent. It's a real honor for His Highness to allow us use of it."

She smiled, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "I wish Hotohori could have come with us. I'm sure he would have loved to see this part of Kounan."

"By the way, Miaka," Chiriko said, putting his hands into the sleeves of his coat, "have you seen Tasuki lately? I saw him right after we left the dock this morning, but not since then."

"I don't know." Miaka glanced around the quarterdeck and up toward the weather deck, a wry look on her face. The stern was empty save for two sailors guiding the ship's rudder. With a frown, she looked back toward the stem. "Chichiri, have you seen Tasuki?" she called to the monk, who sat cross-legged at the edge of the ship's open bow.

Chichiri turned at the sound of his name. "Not since this morning, no da," he shouted. Rising to his feet, he walked up the main deck to join them. The wind pulled at his kesa and his ponytail rippled behind him. He cocked his head. "Why, no da?"

"Well, you'd think he'd want to be up here on deck with us since he's usually so excited to go new places."

"I'm not sure that excitement extends to boat travel, no da." Chichiri chuckled. "But, I'll go see if I can find him, no da."  _I should probably tell him about Tamahome as well,_  he thought.

\- o - o - o -

"Go away, Nuriko," Tasuki groaned and pulled his knees in closer to his chest.

Nuriko giggled. "You can't stay in here for the entire trip, no matter how bad you feel." Crossing his arms over his thin chest, he gave him a wry smile. "People are going to start wondering where you are and come looking for you, you know."

"I don' care." Tasuki lay curled up on his side on his bunk, head pillowed on one arm. "Let 'em fuckin' look. I ain't leavin'." With a moan, he closed his eyes and tried to bury his face in the mattress.

Nuriko shook his head at Tasuki's theatrics. "Even if Chichiri was the one who found you like this?"

"I'd get more fuckin' sympathy from ' **im**  than I'm gettin' from  **you** ," Tasuki said, words muffled by the sheets.

Pushing himself away from the wall where he stood, Nuriko looked down on the pallid redhead. The subtly flickering light from the bronze oil lamp hanging in the far corner cast the entire cabin in a dreamy twilight. "Did you tell him?"

Tasuki lifted his head just enough that he could peer up with one glassy eye. "I didn' get a chance."

"You didn't 'get a chance?'" Nuriko huffed and rolled his eyes. "What were you doing after I sent you back to the palace? You didn't even talk to him, did you?"

"I did too fuckin' talk to 'im," he growled weakly. "I looked 'im right in th' eye, said, 'Chiri, I gotta tell yah somethin',' an' then th' fuckin' fireworks went off an' 'e left."

"You have to tell him, Tasuki."

"Yah don't think I fuckin' know that?" Tasuki moaned and curled farther into his fetal position. "I'm gonna tell 'im, okay? Just gimme some time."

"Fine," Nuriko grumbled as he reached for the bronze pull on the cabin's door, "but if you haven't done it by the time we find the Shinzahou, I'm doing it for you." Pulling the heavy door open, he stepped out into the narrow hall between the passenger compartments and closed it with a quiet thud.

With a whimper, Tasuki wiped the sweat rolling down his cheeks and forehead away with the back of his tunic sleeve and put his face back into the mattress. His head throbbed in time to the beat of his heart.  _Gettin' my ass kicked by Tama was easier 'an this,_  he thought.  _An' less painful._  He groaned and placed a hand over his stomach. Closing his eyes, he could still see Chichiri leading him up the gangway the day before in his mind.

It had never occurred to him until yesterday that the feeling of confidence and caring he got from Chichiri was nearly identical to the feeling he had gotten from Hakurou. He'd felt safe and valued with Hakurou, something he never experienced at home, either from his overbearing mother and submissive father or his domineering older sisters. And when he'd met the leader of the bandits, he knew he'd found someone he could look up to, someone he could give his loyalty to without question. In a lot of ways, it turned out, Chichiri was the same.  _But I never wanted t' sleep with th' ol' boss..._ He tried to shake his head before moaning again in pain.

A quiet knock on the cabin door followed by the sound of light footsteps across the wooden floor broke into his thoughts. "Go th' fuck away, Nuriko," he tried to growl, but it came out as a muffled and irritated groan.

"This situation seems very familiar, no da. But you seemed a lot happier to see me the last time, na no da."

"Chiri," Tasuki gasped. He hadn't expected Chichiri to actually come looking for him despite what he'd said to Nuriko. Nor could he let him see him in such a state. Quickly he tried to sit up, but the sudden movement set the room spinning, exacerbating his nausea. Clutching one hand over his stomach and the other over his mouth, he crumpled back against the wooden cabin wall in a heap. A whimper escaped him, half-squelched by his hand.

Chichiri sat down on the edge of the narrow mattress. He took Tasuki's shoulders and guided him to lie back down. "You really shouldn't move around so fast when you're seasick, no da," he said. Tasuki curled into a ball on his side, his hair obscuring his handsome, if pale and sweat-sheened, face.

Tasuki lay still for a long while, the creak of planking as the boat sailed on and his own shallow breaths the only sounds. Closing his eyes, he tried to ride out the tide of nausea rising in his stomach as best he could. The scent of sunshine, sweet, fresh air and Chichiri soon replaced the stuffy atmosphere in the tiny cabin and he felt a bit less anxious. "I feel like shit," Tasuki said finally.

Chichiri chuckled. "I know. You look like it, na no da."

"Oh, ha ha." With a soft growl, Tasuki tried to wipe as much of the sweat rolling down his face away as he could, but really only managed to stick several locks of his unruly mane to his cheek. "Just fuckin' kick a guy when 'e's down, why don'tcha?"

Gazing down, Chichiri couldn't help feeling sympathy for Tasuki's plight. His own younger sister had never gotten over her seasickness, no matter how many trips they'd made down the Shouryuu River to Souen and back.  _Though, she wasn't nearly as ill-tempered about it, no da,_  he thought. The perpetual smile of his mask took on a rueful quality. He missed her dearly and his guilt for surviving cut especially keenly when he was reminded of her.  _Why did she and everyone else have to die? So that I could fulfill my fate as part of the Shichiseishi?_  He traced the strands of fiery hair that fell over Tasuki's nose and stuck to his face and the lines of his body curled up on the mattress next to him with his eyes. His brow furrowed.  _So that I could meet and lose control of myself to this reckless teenager?_ Even if that were true, that somehow fate and Suzaku had some part in all of this, it had to be a cruel joke. Why would Suzaku, the god of love itself, torture him this way? As punishment for Hikou? Hesitantly, Chichiri reached out and placed a hand on Tasuki's tunic-clad shoulder. "Getting some fresh air up on deck would really help with the nausea and the dizziness, no da."

Tasuki sighed at the warmth of Chichiri's touch. "An' how d'  **you**  know?" His voice was a sleepy rumble, only a mere hint of his previous irritation remaining. The situation did remind him of the night after they'd returned from Kutou and Chichiri had come to visit him. At that time, bandaged, confined to bed, and delirious from Mitsukake's medication, he'd wanted to fall asleep next to him.  _An' now I get my wish,_  he thought with a smile,  _long as I don't puke._

Chichiri chuckled. "I've been around, remember, no da?"

Slowly, Tasuki shifted closer until he could feel the warmth radiating off of Chichiri's body and smell the traces of the sandalwood incense the man always seemed to be burning. "Yeah, yeah. I remember." He snickered, elated even through the headache, the fatigue, and the nausea that Chichiri didn't hold his attempted kiss that night against him.

Silence descended over the small room.  _I should probably tell him now,_  Chichiri thought. He didn't relish what he had to say, but it had to be said. "Tasuki?" he said after a long moment, dropping the silly tone and removing his hand from his shoulder. Tasuki opened his eyes and looked up at him through the curtain of his bangs. "Lighten up on Tamahome for awhile, alright?"

"Tama?" Tasuki leaned his shoulder back against the cabin wall, allowing him to see Chichiri's face more fully. "'S this about this mornin'? He ain't still pissed at me, is 'e? 'Cause I was just kiddin' with 'im."

"Not exactly. He's been through a lot in the past few days."

Tasuki frowned. The brows of Chichiri's mask were furrowed, his perpetual smile nearly absent. The stark seriousness in his expression and his voice worried him. "What's goin' on, Chiri?" he asked. He wasn't quite sure if he really wanted the answer. Fighting both the nauseousness and the vertigo, he managed to push himself up to sitting and leaned heavily on the wall behind him.

Chichiri glanced down at the rumpled sheets on the mattress, tracing the tangle of linen with his eyes. "Tamahome's family was killed by one of the Seiryuu Warriors in retaliation for the death of Amiboshi."

"Holy shit... How?"

Chichiri could hear the shock and the horror in Tasuki's voice. "Amiboshi's brother, Suboshi, sought them out and turned his weapon on them," he whispered. "I'm told the attack came without warning." He shook his head. "It was exceedingly gruesome." A noise, somewhere between a whimper and a growl, caught his attention and he looked up, breath hitching in his throat.

"Those fuckin' bastards," Tasuki hissed, illness forgotten. A look of burning anger and devastating sorrow played across his face. Great salty tears welled up in his eyes. "T' go after defenseless little kids an' ol' men..." The tears began to roll down his cheeks, their paths sparkling in the the dim lamplight. His brow furrowed and he drew his hands into fists. A nearly guttural growl worked its way up from deep within his chest. "Damn them! Those fuckin'  **cowards**!" Slamming one fist down into the thin mattress, he lowered his head. He quietly began to cry, shoulders shaking as he tried to keep it in.

_Tasuki..._ Chichiri watched him for a long moment, unsure of what to do. He knew Tasuki could be exceptionally sensitive, occasionally showing a vulnerability that seemed very much at odds with his outward cocky bravado. Yet, the tears caught him off guard. It still amazed him just how much of his heart, feelings, and thoughts Tasuki was willing to share with anyone and everyone. Some part of him envied his ability to be that open.

Still, Chichiri had never felt very comfortable dealing with other people's sorrow, even as an older brother. Perhaps, he thought, he had too much of his own to deal with without taking on anyone else's. But, against his better judgment and the feeling he was getting much too close, he couldn't just let Tasuki cry without trying to do something to comfort him. "Tasuki?" he murmured and hesitantly placed a hand on his arm.

Chichiri gasped as Tasuki let out a strangled sob and threw his strong arms around him, dropping his forehead onto his shoulder. Chichiri's eyes fluttered closed. The swell of something long forgotten and much more dangerous than physical desire rose in his chest as his heart skipped a beat.  _Suzaku..._  He heard Tasuki whimper next to his ear and felt him shudder against his chest as he cried.  _I can't do this,_  Chichiri thought disjointedly.  _I can't..._ He let out a nearly imperceptible sigh as Tasuki shifted, burying his face in his neck. Faint hints of balsam and leather hung in Tasuki's hair and on his sweat-dampened tunic. Heart pounding against his ribs, Chichiri laid his cheek atop Tasuki's head, unable to resist nuzzling his face into his hair. Gently, he drew his arms around him.

Time slowed to a near-halt in the dream-like dimness of the bronze oil lamp. It swung back and forth on its bronze chains, tracing and retracing shadow and highlight over the wooden walls and plank flooring of the cabin. Tasuki sniffled as he tried to force himself to stop sobbing. He felt embarrassed to let Chichiri see him cry like this, but he was glad the monk hadn't decided to leave. Removing himself from Chichiri's embrace, anger began to outweigh his sadness. " **Why**? Why'd they hafta die?" he demanded. He wiped at his tears with the back of a tunic sleeve. Blinking a few times, he looked into Chichiri's eyes, vision half-blurred by tears that continued to slide down his pale cheeks."Those poor little kids an' that ol' man didn't do  **anythin** ' t'  **anybody**." He growled and again pounded his fist into the mattress. " **Damn**  those fuckin' Seiryuu cowards! We can't let 'em get away with this!"

Chichiri took a tremulous breath. Tamahome's family was dead and he knew no small part of it was due to his preoccupation with the young man before him. He shook his head. If he had detected Amiboshi earlier, before they'd burned  _The Universe of the Four Gods_  and lost the chance to summon Suzaku that way, they might still be alive. He had to regain his detachment before anyone else got hurt, especially Tasuki. The only thing he could do now was redouble his efforts to find the Shinzahou and complete their mission. "We won't, but revenge isn't the answer." He looked away, reliving that moment at the river's edge, and another death he'd caused, again in his mind. "Revenge is never the answer."

"Chiri..." Wiping his tears once more with his sleeve, Tasuki regarded him. Something about Chichiri's tone gave him the distinct impression that he wasn't speaking as a monk, but from experience.  _Why would 'e say somethin' like that?_ Tasuki wondered. So much about Chichiri remained a mystery to him.

"Just keep the teasing to a minimum for awhile, okay, no da?" Chichiri looked back up. His perpetual smile and silly tone of voice were in place once more. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Tasuki's shoulder. "And consider coming up on deck for some air, no da." With a gentle squeeze, he let go and rose from the edge of the mattress. "You'll definitely feel better, na no da." He crossed the floor and pulled opened the cabin door. As he moved to leave, he paused and looked back at the wan bandit, brows furrowed. "My younger sister always got terrible seasickness on boat trips, no da." He left, pulling the door closed behind him.

\- o - o - o -

Sunset descended over the canal and surrounding valley, painting the sky in a palette of oranges, pinks, and purples. The sun nestled into the trees just above a forested mountain far to the west. Its vermilion color reminded Chichiri strongly of Tasuki. Pushing the thought aside, he returned his attention to Chiriko.

The scholar pulled an unassuming scroll from inside his teal coat. A grin of pride lit up his face. He untied the neat bow in the red ribbon holding it closed with small, deft fingers. "Mitsukake? Chichiri? Nuriko? Can you all please hold the edges of the map so everyone can see it?" he asked, looking up.

"Of course, Chiriko." Mitsukake took one corner, positioning his big hand as close to the edge as possible so as not to cover the image. Chichiri and Nuriko followed suit and soon the three of them had the meticulously drawn map open for view.

Sailors traveled up and down the main deck lighting lanterns to combat the rapidly falling twilight in pairs. One carried oil and the other flint. Two young sailors lit the lantern hanging from a bronze ring attached to the mainmast above the Shichiseishi's heads with a snap and a small shower of sparks. It cast a bright yellowy sphere of light around them and illuminated the delicate outlines on the paper scroll.

Chichiri examined the drawing. "This map is extremely detailed, Chiriko, no da. Where did you get it, no da?"

"I copied it from several sources I found while investigating the imperial library back at the palace," he said. Mitsukake placed a hand on his thin shoulder and Chiriko beamed.

"You drew this freehand?" Nuriko asked, looking up from the scroll.

"Yes. Although some parts of it I had to guess at as they weren't depicted on any of the older maps and atlases I studied."

Miaka stepped forward and traced the charcoal-black ink lines and shapes with a slender forefinger. "Wow, Chiriko, this is amazing!" she marveled. Looking up from the page, she frowned and cocked her head. "What is it a map of again?"

"'E just told us durin' dinner, yah idiot! Weren't yah listenin'?"

Nuriko turned to see Tasuki descending the short staircase to the main deck. His arms were folded across his chest and irritation was written across his still-pale face. Tasuki had once again donned his leather coat, its long hem flapping in the breeze.

"Glad you could join us, Tasuki," Nuriko giggled. "Feeling any better?"

"I'm fine, thank yah very fuckin' much," he growled. His eyes shone in the semi-darkness as the sun retreated behind the mountains and the sky began to fade to a deep navy.  _Like I'm gonna tell 'im I had t' puke twice comin' up 'ere,_  he thought. He made a show of looking away toward the quarterdeck, much to Nuriko's amusement. Once Nuriko returned his focus to the map, Tasuki gazed at Chichiri. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"It's a map of Kounan and Hokkan," Chiriko said. "Specifically of the canal and river systems linking the two countries." Pointing to a small stylized image of a grouping of buildings near the bottom of the scroll, he continued. "This is where we started our journey, in Eiyou." Following a winding ink path out from the capital, he stopped about a hand's breadth from where he began. "By my calculations, this is approximately our current location."

"Hey, Miaka." Nuriko looked up from the map. "Shouldn't Tamahome be here for this, too?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Just let him sleep for now. We can tell him about it later."

Mitsukake leaned down, closer to the map, eyebrow raised. "The canal ends inside the Kounan border." Tama-neko stuck his furry head out of Mitsukake's coat and placed a small white paw on the paper. "Tama," he warned and with a plaintive meow, the cat climbed up to his shoulder.

"Yes. At this point here," Chiriko nodded, pointing to a wider, blue ink line running across the upper portion of Kounan, "we will bear west along the Shouryuu River for a time, then continue the trek north across the ocean, ultimately entering this canal here once we reach Hokkan territory."

"The Shouryuu River, no da..." Chichiri trailed off, brows furrowed. He knew it was the only direct way to get across the great inland sea between the four empires and to the canal that ran closest to the capital of Hokkan. Still, the idea of sailing once more on the same waters that had claimed his former life made him uneasy.

"Chichiri?"

He looked up at the sound of his name to find Miaka looking at him with concern. He let his mask and its smile cover his discomfort. "We'll be very close to Kutou's border for several li once we're on the river, no da. We should be prepared for a possible ambush, na no da."

"He's right. The Seiryuu Seven might try to keep us from reaching Hokkan." Chiriko tucked his hands into the sleeves of his coat against the cool night breeze beginning to blow in across the canal.

Tasuki snorted in disgust. "Let 'em fuckin' try it. I'm lookin' forward t' kickin' their sorry asses." Stepping away from his place against the mast, he stalked across the deck toward the rest of the group, fangs bared. "Anybody who can kill innocent little kids like that deserves t' die."

Nuriko's braid slid off his shoulder as he cocked his head. "I take it you told him about Tamahome's family, Chichiri?"

"I did, no da."

"We should cross the Hokkan border in three days at our current rate of speed." Chiriko motioned for Mitsukake, Chichiri, and Nuriko to let go of the map and began to reroll it.

"Great. I can't wait t' get off this damn boat," Tasuki said sourly.

Miaka hugged her arms around herself. "Boy, has it gotten cold out here since the sun went down!" Looking up into the sky, a cloud of moths flitting back and forth around the lantern caught her attention.

On Mitsukake's shoulder, Tama-neko also noticed the moths. Tail twitching with excitement, the cat looked eagerly back and forth as the little insects darted past. A small black-and-white-winged moth flew in wide circles around his head, close enough for him to swat at it a few times. It danced and dived just out of his reach as if taunting him.

"Don't, Tama," Mitsukake warned as the cat adjusted its position on his shoulder in preparation to strike, but it was too late. The animal sprang at the moth, paws outstretched, and sailed through the air straight at Chichiri. "Tama!"

Chichiri turned in surprise at the sound and reached out to catch Tama-neko in his arms. The cat purred and rubbed his head against the man's chest. Chichiri shook his head with a chuckle. "You should probably leave the insects alone, no da. I think fish are much more your speed, na no da."

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm cold and tired. Why don't we call it a night?" Miaka looked at each man in turn before heading off toward the quarterdeck and the stairway belowdecks. "I'll see you all at breakfast tomorrow," she called over her shoulder.

"Miaka's right. We should all get some sleep. We will certainly need to be fully rested once we get into Hokkan." Tucking the map and his hands into his sleeves, Chiriko moved to follow her.

Sidling up to Tasuki, Nuriko put a staying hand on his arm.

He gave Nuriko a strange look. "Eh?"

Nuriko just shook his head and jerked his chin toward Chichiri and Mitsukake.

Scratching the little white cat behind the ears, Chichiri handed him over to Mitsukake. With a clearly guilty meow, Tama-neko jumped into Mitsukake's arms and wiggled into the warmth of his coat. "Bad boy, Tama," he scolded as the two seishi started off after Chiriko.

"I think it might work," Nuriko said. He crossed his arms over his thin chest and cocked his head as he watched them go.

Tasuki raised an eyebrow. "What 'might work?'"

Turning to him, Nuriko smiled. "You and Chichiri." He giggled as Tasuki's pallid face flushed a bright pink. "I mean, he  **is**  pretty weird, but he's also a really nice guy." Sighing theatrically, he clasped his hands together over his heart. "Why does  **everyone**  seem to be pairing up around here?!" he lamented. "If only His Majesty, Hotohori, would notice  **me**! It's so  **unfair**!"

Rolling his eyes, Tasuki snorted and turned to walk away.

"I'm serious, Tasuki." Nuriko fell into step with him as they crossed the length of the ship. The main and quarterdecks were cast in a yellowy twilight, lanterns creating small islands of illumination in the dimness. "You need to tell him."

"Damn, yer annoyin'. I told'ja I would an' I will."

Pausing before they descended the stairs, Nuriko gave Tasuki a scrutinizing look. "You'd better. Remember, by the time we find the Shinzahou or I tell him for you."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it th' first time." Motioning for Nuriko to go first, Tasuki waited for him to disappear, then shook his head.  _Dammit, I know already, but how th' fuck 'm I s'pose'ta do it?_  A frustrated growl bubbled up from his chest and he slammed his fist into the planks framing the stairway entrance. Irritation spent, he headed down the stairs, boot heels thudding loudly on the wooden steps.

\- o - o - o -

The wind ruffled Chiriko's sandy hair and tugged at the hem of his coat. "Am I holding it right, Chichiri?" he asked, looking up at the monk next to him.

"That's good, Chiriko no da. Hold it just like that, no da." The late afternoon sunlight bounced off the ship's wake as they sailed down the canal, the ripples glittering like trails of gemstones.

Tasuki stood on the quarterdeck looking down towards the main deck at the two of them, head cocked. The steady breeze that had followed them since they'd left port yesterday morning ruffled Chichiri's long bangs and ponytail and Tasuki smiled. Chichiri had seen him in several states of vulnerability so far this trip that, without the help of sedatives, he had never wanted to be seen in: terrified, seasick, and instead of treating him like an idiot like Tamahome or like a child like Nuriko, Chichiri had only chuckled in that gentle way of his and quietly set about trying to comfort him. No one had ever done that for him before. Maybe there was more to these feelings he had for him than just lust. He still wanted him more than anything else in his entire life, but he began to think that maybe just bedding him wasn't enough. Maybe he wanted more from him than just sex.

"Hey, whatcha doin'?" Tasuki asked as he flopped down on the edge of the quarterdeck between the short set of stairs down to the main deck and the solid wooden bulwarks running the length of the ship. As long as he kept his focus on the shoreline and his distance from the side, the nausea and the vertigo weren't nearly so bad. Chichiri and Chiriko both turned at the sound of his voice.

"Hi, Tasuki!" Chiriko beamed from atop a short wooden crate placed next to the side. In his small hands he held a black lacquered bamboo fishing rod. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "I'm going to catch a huge carp!"

Tasuki leaned over and put a hand on the boy's head, ruffling his hair. "Good fer you, Chiriko," he said, a fanged smile on his lips. "I guess th' kid's character's gone again."

Chichiri nodded and smiled himself as Tasuki swung his legs back and forth. His boot heels hit the wall beneath him with sharp, rhythmic thuds. He enjoyed the times when Tasuki didn't try so hard to be something he wasn't. "I'm teaching Chiriko how to fish, no da."

"I see that." Jerking his chin toward the bamboo pole in Chichiri's hand, he put his hands on the deck behind him and leaned his lithe body back on them. "Yah brought yer fishin' pole with yah, eh?" Seeing the simple rod again brought back memories of the night they'd nearly kissed and a shiver ran unbidden down his spine.

Chichiri chuckled. "It'll be a long time before I'll have the opportunity to fish in this canal again, so I thought, 'Why not?' no da." He turned his attention back to the silk thread dangling over the side of the ship to the waters below. "You look a lot better today, no da. How are you feeling, na no da?"

"Yeah," Tasuki said, looking Chichiri up and down with an appreciative eye. "I'm doin' good. I ain't completely back t' normal, but I don't wanna puke as much as I did yesterday."

Tasuki started as something rubbed up against his leather-coat-clad arm, and looking down, he found Tama-neko purring contentedly. The cat had never seemed too interested in him, preferring to spend the vast amount of his time with Mitsukake or Chichiri. Even on the trip to Kutou, Tama-neko had chosen to blaze his own trail or accompany Miaka throughout the palace. Tasuki couldn't remember getting even one backward glance from the cat during that time. Cocking his head, he removed his arm from the deck and the animal laid down right next to him.

Chichiri glanced over at the nonplussed redhead. Tasuki looked down at Tama-neko for a long moment. His hair fell over his nose and into his eyes and his earrings swung at his jaw. Hesitantly, he reached out to scratch him behind the ears. A faint smile graced Tasuki's lips as the cat meowed and purred louder.

Chichiri's mask took on a look of affection and an air of melancholy as he watched him. "Make sure you keep your eyes on the line, Chiriko, no da," he said after a moment and looked away. "Once the fish bites, you'll only have a few seconds to hook it or you'll lose it, na no da."

Brilliant sunshine poured down into the valley over the mountaintops. Dropping his head back on his shoulders, Tasuki gazed up into the azure sky. The sun felt warm on his face. He sighed. Just being on the ship still made him uneasy, but having Chichiri's calming aura nearby helped. High above, fluffy white clouds wandered slowly by, heading east on the breeze.

"Wow, Chichiri! You caught something!" Chiriko exclaimed, pulling Tasuki out of his reverie.

Tasuki watched Chichiri pull up on the fishing pole several times, each time letting it dip toward the water below before again pulling it up. After a few moments, Chichiri put the rod against the railing and leaned his body against it to anchor it. He pulled the silk thread up with deft hands. A small sky-blue fish with rosy gills squirmed on the end of the line. "What kinda fish's that?"

"It's a bitterling, no da," Chichiri replied and held the fish in a gentle hand as he worked to remove the hook. "They're very common in this part of Kounan, no da." Taking the fish into both hands, he leaned out over the rail and let it go. It fell back into the water with a muffled splash.

Tasuki cocked his head. "Hey, why're yah lettin' it go?" The fish was only about half the length of his forearm, but Chichiri had put effort into catching it. "What good's fishin' if yah ain't gonna keep whatcha catch?"

Chichiri straightened up and turned to him, chuckling. "I don't generally keep the fish I catch, na no da."

"What? Why? Don'tcha eat any o' 'em?"

"Only very rarely, no da." The breeze played with Chichiri's kesa, pulling the navy wool against his lean body. "If I can afford a meal, what need do I have to catch fish for food, na no da?"

"What kinda fuckin' sense does that make?" Tasuki muttered. He watched Chichiri rebait the hook with a small balled-up piece of bread and lower it back over the side. A lopsided, dreamy smile spread across his face. A lot about Chichiri confused him, but Tasuki respected the man and his convictions.

"Good afternoon, Tasuki, Chichiri." Mitsukake descended the stairs from the quarterdeck and stopped at the bottom. The two men nodded in greeting.

"Hi, Mitsukake!" Chiriko sang. Eagerness and excitement rolled off him in waves. "Chichiri's teaching me to fish!"

Mitsukake smiled. "That's good, Chiriko." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the hem of his coat and the ends of his headband fluttering in the wind. "Did his character disappear?"

"Yup." Tasuki resumed banging his heels against the wall.

"It's alright, no da. I'm sure it will return before we reach Hokkan, na no da," Chichiri added over his shoulder.

Mitsukake nodded and watched Chiriko fidget with the lacquered fishing rod in his hands. "Have either of you seen Tama?"

"Yeah, 'e right here." Tasuki pointed at the small white cat nestled against his thigh. Tama-neko looked up at Mitsukake and meowed, but didn't move from his spot. "Fer some reason, 'e just laid down."

"He must like you."

"I'm sure he just wants a fish, no da."

"Hey!"

Mitsukake watched Tasuki scowl at Chichiri's comment and subsequent laughter, eyebrow raised. Aside from Chichiri's visit to see Tasuki after their return from Kutou and at meals, Mitsukake couldn't recall seeing them in the same place at the same time outside of Shichiseishi business. It surprised him to see the brash, cocksure redhead spending so much time with the quiet, reserved monk. Of course, he thought, they were on a ship and there was little chance of not running into the same person several times a day. Still, he was glad Chichiri was starting to interact more.

"You all look like you're having fun over here."

"Good afternoon, Nuriko," Mitsukake said. He nodded as Nuriko walked up next to Tasuki, hands on his hips. His braid flapped against his back.

"Nuriko, I'm catching fish!" Chiriko turned excitedly and nearly stepped off the crate on which he stood. Chichiri quickly reached out an arm and caught him before he tumbled to the deck. He let out a long sigh as Chiriko regained his footing. The beaming smile never left Chiriko's cherubic face.

Nuriko smiled. "Wonderful, Chiriko." The boy turned his attention back to the side of the ship and his fishing rod and began humming to himself. "His character's missing again, isn't it?"

"Yes." Mitsukake stepped aside to allow Nuriko to descend the stairs.

Nuriko walked over to the rail and glanced down into the cinnamon-colored waters. Silt and sediment stirred up by the heavy rains a few days prior still clouded the canal. "Do you think you'll catch anything today, Chichiri?" he asked, looking back up.

"'E already did," Tasuki replied. The breeze ruffled the lapels of his leather coat.

Chichiri glanced over at Tasuki, brow raised. Something about Tasuki answering for him reminded him of how he used to finish most of Hikou's sentences when he was a child. Shaking his head, he looked back at Nuriko.

"Oh good. Do you think you could catch me a few grass carp for tonight's dinner? I managed to convince the kitchen staff to let me do some cooking and I was thinking about making tangcu liyu."

Chichiri opened his mouth to reply but was promptly cut off by Tasuki.

"'E doesn't catch 'em t' eat 'em, yah moron." Tasuki smirked at Nuriko's frown.

"I wasn't talking to you, Tasuki," Nuriko shot back.

Chichiri looked at Tasuki for a moment, head cocked, his brow furrowed. He wasn't sure if he should be irritated by his interruptions or not. Tasuki seemed to have an uncanny way of inserting himself into conversations, even ones that had nothing to do with him.  _Or..._ He blinked a few times as a thought came to him.  _Is he trying to defend me?_ Just the idea of it brought a wistful look to his face and an ache to his chest.  _Why can't you just leave this thing between us alone?_  Sighing to himself, he spoke. "No, it's alright, no da. I don't mind, no da." He turned back to his fishing pole. "I can't guarantee I'll be able to catch anything else, but I'll give it a try, na no da."

"Thank you, Chichiri." Sticking his tongue out at the angry redhead, Nuriko crossed his arms over his thin chest in triumph.

Tasuki scowled. Why had Chichiri brushed off his defense of his catch and release method of fishing?  _What th' fuck, Chiri?_  he thought, baring his fangs in frustration.  _Yah make no fuckin' sense._  He watched Chichiri for a moment before looking away toward the shoreline on the opposite side of the ship with a growl.

Across from him, Mitsukake raised an eyebrow.

"Chichiri! Chichiri! Something's pulling on my line!" Chiriko exclaimed.

"That's great, Chiriko, no da. Hold on tight and pull up on the pole to hook it, no da."

Chiriko tried to lift the lacquered rod with all his might, but the force of the fish on the line pulled the end of the pole ever downward. "Chichiri, I can't..." Big tears welled up in his eyes and he sniffled. "It's too heavy."

"It's alright, Chiriko, no da." Chichiri couldn't help smiling at Chiriko's tendency to cry about something when his character was missing. "I'll help you, na no da." Anchoring his own fishing rod between his hip and the wooden railing, he added his strength to the fight and helped Chiriko hold onto the fishing pole. "Alright," Chichiri said, once he was fairly certain he had it hooked securely, "now let the end of the rod dip down toward the water, no da. We want to tire the fish out so it's easier to pull up, na no da."

Miaka stopped at the top of the staircase to the main deck, hands clasped behind her back. She cocked her head, the hem of her uniform skirt fluttering. "Hi, guys. What are you doing over here?"

Mitsukake turned and smiled at her. "Good afternoon, Miaka."

"Hey." Tasuki looked up and nodded before returning his gaze to the fight between the scholar, the monk, and the obviously very large fish in the canal below. They again raised the end of the rod before allowing it to sink once more.

Nuriko walked over to the stairs just as Miaka descended them. "Chichiri and Chiriko are catching us dinner," he said and pulled his braid back over his shoulder.

A wide grin spread across Miaka's face and a lustful gleam appeared in her eyes. "That's right! We haven't eaten since lunch!"

"Yer hungry again already?"  _How th' hell can she eat so much?_  "Oh yeah." Tasuki smacked himself in the forehead. How could he forget? "Yer Miaka. Yer always hungry."

"I haven't seen Tamahome today," Nuriko said. He gave her a look of concern. "Is he alright?"

Miaka nodded. "Yeah, he's still sleeping. He was more exhausted when we got back to the ship yesterday morning than I thought."

"Okay, hold onto the pole and I'll pull up the line, no da."

Nuriko looked over as Chiriko tried to hold the fishing rod and stand on tiptoe to see over the side at the same time. "How's the fight going, Chichiri?"

Chichiri hauled up the silk strand, his biceps and the muscles of his forearms straining against the still-wild squirming of the fish. "Almost there, no da."

Tasuki looked him up and down, a thrill of desire running through him.  _Suzaku, but yer sexy..._  He knew Chichiri was fairly muscular despite his willowy frame–he'd seen it in wondrous detail only a few days ago–but watching him straining to pull up the fishing line made him appreciate his body all over again. "Doing it right" or not, he thought, he had to tell Chichiri exactly what he did to him if only to alleviate the near-constant state of arousal he'd been in since they'd met. He jumped down from his seat on the quarterdeck with a thud. He was glad that his long coat hid his erection.

Reaching down over the side, Chichiri slid his hand behind the tired fish's olive-hued operculum. He started as the full size of it sank in. "Apparently we're going to eat well tonight, no da." He hauled it over the side to surprised gasps and low whistles. The grass carp had to be at least as long as his arm and at least four times as heavy as Tama-neko. "Good job, Chiriko, no da," he said with a smile.

"Damn, Chiriko." Tasuki scrutinized the giant fish with admiration. "Yah sure yah never fished b'fore?" Grinning broadly, he ruffled Chiriko's hair as the boy hopped down from the crate, rod in hand. He glanced over at Chichiri as the monk set about removing the barbed iron hook from the carp's lip. Its mouth opened and closed periodically as it hung there.

"It's just perfect!" Nuriko declared, looking the fish up and down. He turned this way and that to see the carp from all angles. Bright sunlight bounced off its large scales, painting it a shining silvery color like that of weathered teak. "I'll get to work on this right away." Taking hold of the fish's tail in one hand, he heaved it over his shoulder and headed up the stairs to the quarterdeck and the ship's galley. "Thank you both for catching this for me!"

Miaka watched him walk away, her expression one of longing. She placed a hand over her empty stomach as it growled. At the same time, Tama-neko's ears perked up. The cat's attention also went straight to the huge fish hanging down Nuriko's back. Miaka and Tama-neko hesitated for just a second before scurrying after him, one talking and the other meowing excitedly. With Tama-neko weaving around Nuriko's feet, Miaka trotted alongside as the three of them continued across the deck toward the stern of the ship.

Mitsukake shook his head. "I hope Nuriko can keep them away from the fish long enough to prepare dinner."

"I haven't seen Miaka eat anything still alive as of yet, but I wouldn't put it past her, no da."

"I just wanna know where she fuckin' puts all that food she's eatin' all th' time."

Mitsukake nodded to Chichiri and Tasuki and started off after his cat. "I should probably keep an eye on Tama. I'll see you at dinner."

"I should probably return this fishing pole to the captain before we eat, no da," Chichiri said as he took the bamboo rod from Chiriko.

Tasuki watched him for a while, looking him up and down as he collected his own fishing line. Chichiri looped the thread around his hand just as he had that night he'd almost kissed him.  _Dammit,_ he thought.

"Thank you for teaching me how to fish today, Chichiri." Both Tasuki's and Chichiri's heads whipped toward the voice.

"Chiriko! Yer back!"

He frowned. "I didn't go anywhere, Tasuki. My character just faded out."

Chichiri chuckled at them. "You're welcome, Chiriko, no da," he said. He smiled as Chiriko tucked his hands into his coat-sleeves. Picking up his fishing pole in one hand and holding the captain's fishing rod in the other, Chichiri guided them up the stairs before ascending himself. "We should get cleaned up before we eat, no da. Knowing Nuriko, dinner will be ready very shortly, na no da."

\- o - o - o -

"It was very kind of the captain to allow us the run of the ship's galley and dining facilities," Chiriko said as he took a bite of the youcai. He hastily wiped at his mouth with a cotton napkin as the tangy fried garlic and oyster sauce slid off the wilted bok choy and dribbled down his chin.

Miaka and her warriors sat around the modest rectangular dining table in the ship's messroom, bathed in the bright light of several hanging oil lamps swinging from the wooden ceiling. Dinner was a rather modest spread in comparison to the meals they'd eaten at the palace. None of the dishes matched and a few of the porcelain bowls had chips in the rims. The plate of youcai butted up to a heaping bowl of vegetable chao fan. Bits of carrot, onion, broccoli, and whole bean sprouts peeked out from the soy-sauce-stained rice as salty, earthy-smelling steam wafted toward the ceiling. Dominating the center of the small table, the battered and fried carp glistened in the lantern light. It sat on its black and red lacquer serving platter in a pool of golden honey and vinegar sauce, its dark caudal fin curled upward.

To Chiriko's right, Tamahome grabbed a few chopstickfuls of the vegetarian fried rice. He deposited them on his porcelain plate before taking a piece from the tail section of the tangcu liyu. "Well, His Highness did say that the ship belongs to us now."

"You know, Tasuki," Nuriko said as he took a sip from his teacup, "I didn't think you'd want to eat much of anything with your seasickness and all." He turned ever so slowly to his left and smirked.

"I told'ja yesterday," Tasuki growled. "I'm fine." It was true his nausea and vertigo had subsided for the most part, but Tasuki wasn't going to admit to anyone, least of all Nuriko, that he still didn't feel quite like his usual self.

Tamahome's head shot up at Nuriko's words. "You're seasick, Tasuki?" He sputtered, hurriedly covering his mouth with one hand, and cackled. "You can't swim  **and**  you're seasick?! That's hilarious!"

"Tamahome," Miaka warned, shaking her head. Using her lacquered chopsticks, she cut off a corner piece of the xiaren chao doufu. Some of the shrimp, scallion, and ginger stuffing inside the block of fried tofu spilled out onto her plate as she took a bite.

Tasuki growled deep in his throat, his eyes narrowed to slits. He wasn't going to let Tamahome get away with making his aversion to boats and water the butt of a joke without getting in a few jabs himself. A sneer spread across his lips and his fangs poked out at the corners of his mouth. "Yer just pissed that Miaka dumped yah."

"She did not dump me!"

"Admit it! She dumped yah!"

"She did not!"

Nuriko rolled his eyes. "Oh why can't you two grow up?" Taking a spoonful of the hai huang geng, he looked pointedly back and forth between Tamahome and Tasuki.

Tasuki jerked his head around to glare at Nuriko. "What th' fuck?  **You**  started it, yah asshole."

Across the table from the angry bandit, both Chiriko and Mitsukake calmly watched the fireworks. Apparently, Mitsukake thought, Tamahome was feeling much more upbeat today. He missed the quiet Tamahome's exhaustion had brought despite the reason behind it. Only two days had passed since they'd set out for Hokkan, but the two were arguing again already. He shook his head. A soft sigh caught his attention and he looked up at Chichiri. The heretofore silent monk put down his chopsticks on the edge of his plate and picked up his teacup.

"Tasuki, no da," Chichiri admonished. He cast a sidelong glance at Tasuki as he brought the porcelain vessel to his lips.

Mitsukake raised an eyebrow as Tasuki turned to look at Chichiri, seemingly to argue, but merely scowled. Grabbing the lacquerware bowl next to his plate and his bronze spoon, Tasuki took a bite of his own steaming seafood soup. He bristled, growling softly as Nuriko snickered next to him, but said nothing. That Tasuki didn't pursue the argument with Tamahome anyway or launch into a quarrel with Nuriko was surprising. But, it shocked Mitsukake that he didn't say one word in protest of Chichiri's rebuke. Even Miaka's warning to Tamahome hadn't met with that much success.

"I wonder what Hokkan's like." Miaka tapped the ends of her chopsticks thoughtfully against her lips. "Taiitsukun said the god Genbu rules there and that it's far to the north, but I don't know what to expect other than that." Scooping up the shrimp filling and some chao fan, she cocked her head. "Have any of you ever been there before?"

"It's very mountainous and it's cold most of the year, snowing quite a bit during the winter, but I've never traveled there," Chiriko said. "Most of the information I have I gleaned from the atlases and historical references I found in the imperial library."

Mitsukake poured Chichiri some more tea before pouring some for himself. "Chichiri, you've said that as a monk, you've traveled a great deal. Have you ever visited Hokkan?"

"I have, no da."

Miaka perked up at his words. "Really? What do you know about it, Chichiri?"

_I guess 'e wasn't lyin' when 'e said 'e was a wanderin' monk,_  Tasuki thought. Putting down his soup spoon, he folded his arms on the table edge and turned to listen.

Chichiri smiled as the whole table waited for him to speak. "I passed through Hokkan several years ago, before I went to train at Mount Taikyoku, no da." He certainly wasn't going to volunteer the reason why he was there. None of the celestial warriors or Miaka needed to know about the years he'd spent searching for absolution for Hikou's death. Taking a sip from his teacup, he continued. "I don't know much about it aside from what I saw, but I'll tell you what I can, na no da."

"Have yah been t' all th' other countries, too?"

He turned to Tasuki, who sat not an arm's length to his right. Tasuki had propped his head up on his hand just as he had after breakfast that morning after the trip to Kutou; even the scrutinizing look in his eyes was the same. The pit of Chichiri's stomach fluttered and he looked away. "All but Kutou, if you don't count the two trips there in the last month or so, no da."

"Wow, really?" Miaka shifted forward on her chair at the head of the table. "I'd love to hear more about your travels, Chichiri."

"We should let him finish telling us about Hokkan first, silly." Tamahome chuckled and tapped Miaka on the head. He grinned as she rubbed the spot, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

"It's late summer now in Kounan. I'd imagine the change of seasons will have already started in Hokkan." Chiriko took a bite of the vegetarian fried rice.

"Yes, no da. It was already snowing in the mountains the last time I was there, no da." Retrieving his nearly forgotten chopsticks, Chichiri put a few pieces of carp on his plate. "Following the route we've chosen, along the canals and the Shouryuu River, we'll end up only few li from the outskirts of the capital, Touran, no da."

Nuriko frowned. "What about the Seiryuu Seven? Kutou borders Hokkan too, doesn't it? If they take an overland route, won't they get there ahead of us?"

"The reason His Highness, Chiriko, and I chose the canal option is that traveling overland through Hokkan is difficult and time-consuming, no da. The Seiryuu won't find their journey easy, na no da."

Nuriko nodded, braid sliding off his shoulder. Hazarding a glance at Miaka, his brow furrowed. She sat with her hands folded in front of her, her eyes downcast and a frown on her lips. "Well," he said, trying to change the subject, "I, for one, am not looking forward to the cold or the snow." Sighing, he brought his hands to his cheeks. "How am I  **ever**  going to stay beautiful in such an  **awful**  place? Dry air just  **ruins**  my complexion." Tamahome and Tasuki snorted in unison.

"Oh, please." Tamahome rolled his eyes. "We won't have time to worry about that. We're going to be looking for the Shinzahou, remember?"

With a smirk, Tasuki jumped in. "Yeah, an' just whadda yah think yah need t' pretty yerself up for, anyway? A–" He stopped in mid-sentence, blinking a few times, and turned to Chichiri. "Hey, Chiri. What kinda animals do they got in Hokkan?"

Mitsukake raised an eyebrow.  _"Chiri?"_

"What?!" Nuriko sputtered. "'Animals?!' How dare you, you jerk?!"

Chichiri chuckled and shook his head. He'd seen Nuriko's glance at Miaka and the girl's crestfallen expression. He knew what Nuriko was trying to do even if Tamahome and Tasuki did not.  _Well, I guess I should play along, no da..._ With a smile, he took a piece of the tangcu liyu on his plate in his chopsticks. "Yaks, no da."

Tasuki grinned and turned back to Nuriko. "What d'yah think yah need t' look so pretty fer, huh? A  **yak**?" He threw back his head and burst into laughter. Tamahome chortled at Tasuki's joke. He tried unsuccessfully to cover his amusement behind a series of feigned coughs as he caught Nuriko's withering glare. Soon, the whole table was engulfed in snickers and chuckling.

Nuriko scowled, crossing his arms over his thin chest. "You are all just **horrible**!" he declared. Exchanging a silent look with Chichiri, he glanced again at Miaka. She tried to stifle her own laughter with little success.  _My job here is done._  "Just see if I make dinner for you ingrates ever again."

"We're sorry, Nuriko," Miaka tittered, finally extracting a smile from the incensed courtier. "We really appreciate you making dinner for us."

"Thank you, Miaka." Giving the rest of the seishi a look of suffering, he took her small hand in his and brought the back of his other hand to his forehead. "You're the  **only**  one who really  **cares**  about me." Tasuki howled with laughter at Nuriko's overwrought act, wiping away a tear from the corner of one eye.

"I suppose this means dinner's over now, doesn't it?" Chiriko gestured to the two horrified-looking serving women peeking in through the door at the far end of the messroom. Cautiously, they approached the diners and began to remove empty plates from the table onto large lacquered trays. Each wore a nervous expression.

Across the table from Chiriko, Nuriko elbowed the cackling bandit in the ribs. "Give it a rest, would you?"

"Ow!" Tasuki wheezed at the impact. Coughs racked his body as he held his injured side. He glared. "Yah didn't hafta fuckin' hit me."

Handing one of the women his plate, Chichiri wiped his hands on the hot towel she gave him in return. "We have a little over a day before we reach the Shouryuu River, no da," he said, pushing his chair in as he stood. "We should get as much rest as we can if we're going to be ready for a Seiryuu attack and to find the Shinzahou, na no da."

The rest of the Shichiseishi rose from the table as well. Mitsukake nodded to the serving woman taking his plate and gestured for Chiriko to go in front of him to the messroom doorway. He pushed the thick wooden door open for him and allowed him to walk through first. "Good night, everyone," he said over his shoulder.

Tamahome, Miaka, and Nuriko followed close behind. "Okay. We'll see you guys tomorrow then." Tamahome took the door from Mitsukake and held it until Tasuki took it from him.

"Yeah, good night." Tasuki waited, posting himself in the doorway, and watched the rest of the Shichiseishi disappear down the lantern-lit interior hallway of the ship's belowdecks. When he was satisfied they were out of earshot, he looked back into the messroom at Chichiri as he walked to the door. Just as Chichiri reached the doorway, Tasuki reached out and planted his hand on the doorframe, using both his body and his arm to block the exit.

Chichiri traced the length of Tasuki's arm, his heart beating faster in his chest. His eyes slowly moved from Tasuki's fingers flexing as he adjusted his grip on the wooden jamb, up his coat-clad sleeve to the pair of jade- and glass-beaded necklaces, to finally the wry, almost desirous smile on his lips. Chichiri swallowed hard. The smell of leather and of sex radiating from Tasuki elicited an involuntary shudder. Not a hair's breadth separated them as they stood in the messroom doorway. He felt Tasuki's warm breath fan across his face and the intense heat from his body. Being this close, with those eyes boring into him, a potent and insistent erection threatened to betray his outward calm. Again, he was faced with the truth that he'd willingly put himself into this situation. He'd thought he could continue to stay close to Tasuki while keeping his desires separate from his duty. He'd thought he could deny this powerful attraction between them, but it had been untenable from the beginning. He cursed himself for thinking he could somehow control the feelings Tasuki dredged up within him. He took a shaky breath. "What–"

"I still got somethin' I gotta tell yah, Chiri," Tasuki murmured. His voice was a low rumble meant only for the two of them to hear. He knew what being this near to him did to Chichiri, as he felt the same: the thrill of his blood through his veins from the scent of his hair, the warmth of his skin, the urgent throb of his cock when they touched, even accidentally. Reaching into his coat pocket, he took the bronze coin charm he'd bought during Qi Xi nearly five days before in his hand. "I'm–"

"Please pardon our intrusion, your lordships."

Startled, both men turned abruptly. The two serving women who had taken up their empty plates at dinner stood behind them, laden trays in hand. They kept their heads bowed in deference.

"We mean you no disrespect, Warriors of Suzaku," the younger of the two women said, bowing her head even lower. "To reach the kitchens, we must use this doorway."

"Oh, sorry," Tasuki said, shaking his head to himself. This was the second time he'd been interrupted while trying to tell Chichiri how he felt about him. He removed his arm and stepped out of the way.

Chichiri let out a pent-up breath. There would come a time, he knew, when Tasuki wouldn't let him back away after the flirting and the games had ended and he would have to make his choice. But, it wouldn't be this night. Taking the opportunity, he slipped out the doorway ahead of the serving women. "Good night, Tasuki, no da."

_Dammit, not again._ "Chiri!" Tasuki moved to go after him, only to run into the older serving woman and her tray. Porcelain dishes, bronze utensils, bamboo chopsticks, and lacquerware spilled over the edge and onto the wood plank floor with a mighty crash. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to help the frightened woman retrieve and upright the contents of the tray. "Chiri!" he called again as Chichiri disappeared into the twilit hallway and was gone.

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri sat cross-legged at the very edge of the ship's open bow. The vessel cut through the light wind-driven waves running across the surface of the water. The mid-morning sun emerged from behind a bank of fluffy cumulus clouds wandering eastward. The sunshine was warm on his mask-clad face. Sometime during the night the ship had left the canal behind and begun its westward trek along the Shouryuu River. The familiar wide channel of the river, its sandy, horseshoe-shaped bends, and sparkling blue waters: it was at once comforting and unnerving to him to be sailing on it again.

"Good morning, Chichiri!"

He turned to see Chiriko walking down the quarterdeck toward him. His arms were laden with paper, brushes, and boxes of inks. A broad smile graced his lips. Mitsukake followed Chiriko carrying a small rosewood table and a matching chair. The two seishi descended the short staircase to the main deck before stopping next to the mainmast. "Good morning, no da!" Chichiri called in reply. He pushed himself to his feet and moved to join them. "How are you both, no da?"

"Quite well, thank you." Mitsukake set the pieces of furniture down on the wooden deck with a soft thud.

Chiriko dropped his load on the tabletop and looked up at Chichiri. "I happened to find a set of brushes and inks His Highness had sent along with the rest of the provisions for the journey when I was unpacking my trunk a few days ago," he said, placing two ivory-handled brushes, one sable, the other goat, to the left of a large scroll of paper. "I thought I might use them to do some painting, but I hadn't had the chance until today."

"I didn't know you painted, Chiriko, no da." Chichiri knew the boy, from a rather well-to-do and scholarly family, had to be versed in calligraphy and by extension ink painting, but he was still impressed.

Chiriko smiled, placing a handful of small wooden boxes containing ink sticks and pigments as well as an ink stone to the right of the paper. "I've never been very good at landscapes, but my parents and my master always praised my figural studies." One of the serving women who had taken up the dishes from dinner the previous night brought a jug of water to them. She handed the porcelain vessel to Mitsukake before bowing low to the three seishi and returning aft across the quarterdeck. Chiriko nodded his thanks as Mitsukake filled two celadon cups with the clear water. "I haven't decided what my subject should be though." He looked back and forth between Mitsukake and Chichiri. "Do either of you have any ideas?"

"Well, how about–" Chichiri began and was promptly cut off.

"Come on, Tama! It'll be fun!"

"For the last time, no, Tasuki."

Chichiri looked up to see Tamahome striding across the quarterdeck toward them, a pronounced frown on his lips. The light wind ruffled the hem of his robe as the red and white silk whispered about the tops of his black leather boots. Tasuki dogged his steps. He wore a look of excitement, his fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth. Trailing behind them at some distance were Nuriko and Miaka. They conversed among themselves between glances at Tamahome and Tasuki. His brow furrowed.  _Tasuki..._

"Chichiri, will you tell him to leave me alone?" Tamahome asked, coming to a stop at the edge of the quarterdeck. He put his hands on his hips. "He keeps following me around and won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Hey, Chiri. Tell 'im 'e's bein' a fuckin' wuss an' I'd stop followin' 'im if 'e'd just agree t' do it." Tasuki stood next to Tamahome, arms crossed over his coat-clad chest.

Thankful his mask covered what he knew was a look of concern on his true face, Chichiri looked at both younger warriors for a moment. "'Agree to do' what, no da?"

"Tasuki wants Tamahome to spar with him, but he said no," Nuriko said, walking up to the conversation. "They've been arguing about it ever since breakfast." He let out a long and frustrated sigh. "I don't care what you tell them, just please make them stop talking about it!"

"Hmm." Chichiri looked back down at rosewood table and its painting implements. Chiriko had taken a stick of black ink, embossed with characters lined with gold foil, out of its bamboo box and placed it next to the ink stone. A small pool of water sat like a cabochon of quartz on the slate's surface.  _Maybe I have an idea, no da..._ "Chiriko wanted to do some painting this morning, no da." He watched Chiriko blush a bright red and tuck his hands into the sleeves of his silk coat. Turning back to the two quarreling seishi, he smiled. "Why don't you let him use you as subjects, no da?"

"Paintin'?"

"Subjects?"

Chichiri chuckled at the confused looks on their faces. "Why not, no da?" Tamahome and Tasuki exchanged a look as he continued. "The only stipulation is that you can't use your celestial powers, no da. We can't let the Seiryuu know our movements and using any of our powers would allow them to find us immediately, na no da."

"That's a wonderful idea, Chichiri!" Miaka piped up, clapping her hands. "You'll do it, won't you, Tamahome?"

Tasuki, imitating Miaka, clasped his own hands together and batted his eyelashes. "Yeah, 'you'll do it, won'tcha, Tamahome?'" He laughed as Tamahome took a swing and barely missed his face.

Tamahome sighed and gave Miaka a small smile. "Okay, fine."

Tasuki pumped his fist in triumph. "Alright!" He pulled the ornate gold belt hanging across his chest over his head, setting it, along with the tessen it holstered, on the planking of the quarterdeck. When he'd first asked Tamahome to spar with him, he had no idea that Chichiri would end up seeing the match. Chichiri had disappeared after breakfast was over and he hadn't seen him again until he, Tamahome, Nuriko, and Miaka had walked out onto the quarterdeck from the belowdecks stairway.  _Why do yah keep runnin' away from me?_  he thought as he quickly unbuttoned his leather coat and slipped it off his shoulders to the deck as well.  _It can't be yah don't want me, 'cause th' way yer lookin' me up an' down right now, there's no way yah don't,_ he thought. He gazed down at Chichiri with a roguish grin. "Thanks, Chiri."

Mitsukake raised an eyebrow as Tasuki trotted to where Tamahome stood in the center of the quarterdeck. Tasuki had an incredible reserve of energy that impressed even him. "Try not to hurt yourselves," he called as the two combatants squared off. "I didn't bring all of my medicinal herbs with me." Shaking his head, he glanced over at Chichiri. The monk stared for a long moment at the coat laying in a heap at the edge of the quarterdeck in front of him. Something seemed off about Chichiri, particularly since the journey to Hokkan began and Mitsukake had no idea what was wrong or why. He might be able to chalk the subtle change in Chichiri's demeanor up to just how important finding the Shinzahou was; everyone seemed slightly agitated since they'd left Eiyou. But, that didn't quite explain the feeling that there was something more to it than that.  _I'll keep an eye on him for now. I want to know what I'm dealing with before I mention it to anyone._

Chiriko began to grind the black ink on the ink stone as Tasuki threw a powerful right at Tamahome, his fist streaking toward Tamahome's jaw. Tamahome blocked, deflecting the punch with his forearm. Bringing his own fists to bear, he directed a rapid succession of blows at Tasuki's ribs. Tasuki dropped low to avoid the hits, bringing his leg around in a swift arc to sweep Tamahome off his feet.

Tamahome darted backward, easily avoiding the attack. With a smirk, he kicked at Tasuki's chest as he jumped up, the sole of his boot connecting with a loud smack. Tasuki fell backward to the quarterdeck with a grunt and a hard thud.

"Come on, Tasuki," Tamahome taunted. "You were the one who asked me to fight. You can't give up now." Dropping back into a defensive stance, he waited for him to get back up.

Looking down, Mitsukake watched Chiriko move the finer, sable brush across the scroll of paper. He had a considerable eye for detail. His small arm seemed to float above the page as he recorded the details of the scene: the individual planks in the quarterdeck, the way Tamahome's thin ponytail fluttered in the breeze as the two warriors traded blows, even the number of closures on Tasuki's linen tunic. Chiriko smiled to himself as he worked, and Mitsukake smiled himself.

Jumping back to his feet from the deck, Tasuki took a deep breath.  _What th' fuck?_ His reaction times were way off.  _I should be fine today since I ain't nauseous anymore..._ Apparently his body hadn't recovered from the seasickness as completely as he'd thought, but he couldn't quit before the fight had even really begun. He'd done too much badgering to get Tamahome to agree to spar with him for that. He smirked. "Oh, I ain't done yet." He dropped back into a fighting posture and they slowly circled one another.

Tamahome went on the offensive, delivering punch after punch to Tasuki's face and torso. Tasuki blocked and dodged each nimbly, deflecting a punishing left before grabbing Tamahome's arm with both hands. Using his hip as leverage, he knocked him off-balance and flipped him over his back, throwing him down heavily to the quarterdeck.

"Take it easy over there," Nuriko shouted from his seat next to Miaka at the ship's side. They sat several paces from Chiriko, Mitsukake, and Chichiri. He used the navy blue silk of his sleeve to shield his eyes from the sun now shining directly down on the deck. "You're sparring, not trying to kill each other, remember?"

Taking Tasuki's proffered hand, Tamahome pulled himself back to his feet. "Where did you learn to throw like that?" He backed up a few paces, returning to his previous stance as the two squared off once more.

"Back when th' ol' boss was in charge at Mount Reikaku, 'e had all th' guys trainin' in different fightin' techniques," Tasuki said as they probed each other's defensive postures for weaknesses. "One o' th' guys was real good at grapplin', so th' boss had 'im give th' rest o' us lessons." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chichiri watching them. Chichiri hadn't taken his eyes off of him since the fight started.  _I can't stop now, not with Chiri watchin',_  he thought. There was no way he was going to surrender and lose face in front of him.

Hazarding another glance at Chichiri, Mitsukake raised an eyebrow. He hadn't moved from where he'd stood at the beginning of the match at all.

Tasuki's muscles flexed and relaxed under his tunic with each movement of his body. A sharp twinge of desire raced through Chichiri as he watched the two warriors circle each other. Breath a soft pant, his already hard cock throbbed with the blood beginning to pound through his veins. Tasuki glanced at him, his bangs curtaining a look of smoldering sexuality that sent an electric spark down Chichiri's spine.  _Suzaku..._

Ducking low to avoid another kick, Tamahome swept his leg around in an arc, knocking Tasuki's feet out from under him. Tasuki hit the deck with a grunt and rolled to his left, barely missing a kick to the face. Jumping up, Tasuki sprang at Tamahome, delivering a string of powerful punches and knees to the stomach. Dodging back and away, out of range, Tamahome put several paces between them. "You actually have to hit me, Tasuki."

"How is the painting coming, Chiriko?" Mitsukake asked as he shook his head. The brash redhead's pride was going to get him injured if he wasn't careful.

Chiriko traded his fine weasel-hair brush for the wider and softer goat-hair brush as he began to add pigment to his black-ink-outline figures. "I'm so glad Chichiri suggested that I paint Tasuki and Tamahome's sparring match. I just wish I had brought my seal and seal paste along with me so I could properly sign the piece."

Chiriko's words brought Mitsukake's thoughts back to Chichiri's odd behavior. Still concerned about him, he looked over at him again and started. Chichiri shook his head vigorously, his ponytail swishing across his back. The perpetual smile on his face was gone, replaced with a pronounced frown. Silently, he turned and started up the short staircase from the main deck to the quarterdeck.  _Where is he going?_

Tasuki growled. He'd only managed to get in one good attack during this entire fight.  _Dammit._  Tamahome was beating him soundly and he looked like a fool. And to make matters worse, Chichiri had seemed almost depressed when he'd glanced at him just a moment before.  _Dammit!_

Tamahome resumed his offensive, striking at Tasuki's chest and face with several fast jabs before darting out of his reach again. Movement behind Tamahome caught his attention and Tasuki's eyes went wide. Chichiri ascended the stairs to the quarterdeck, striding purposefully past the fight toward the stern of the ship without a word.  _What th' fuck? Chiri?_  What was going on? Where was Chichiri going? Was he that disappointed with him and his performance? The sound of running pulled him out of his musing and too late he turned to see Tamahome leap into the air, lean body sailing at him, leg outstretched for a damning side kick. Tasuki put up his forearms to block, but Tamahome's boot connected with his ribs, blasting the air out of his lungs and he fell to the quarterdeck in a heap. "Fuck," hewheezed, watching Chichiri disappear down the belowdecks stairway.

Rising from his spot, Nuriko dusted off the back of his robe. "Okay, I think that's quite enough from both of you."

"Tamahome! You weren't supposed to go all out!" Miaka scolded, brows furrowed as she walked up. "You could have really hurt him!"

"I wasn't trying to!" Tamahome shot back. "How was I supposed to know he was going to space out in the middle of the fight?"

Mitsukake frowned as he ascended the stairway Chichiri had just a few minutes before. Why had he left so abruptly? He'd seemed rattled at breakfast, leaving before any of the rest of the Shichiseishi had finished their meals and now he'd disappeared again.  _He seemed much more at ease when Chiriko and I came up on deck earlier._ And yet, Mitsukake had no idea what was really going on with him. He shook his head. Chichiri had always seemed rather tight-lipped about himself, but after seeing him with Tasuki yesterday afternoon, Mitsukake thought he'd started to open up some.  _I wonder,_ he thought. The only connecting factor in all of it seemed to be Tasuki.  _Did they have a fight of some kind?_ "Are you alright, Tasuki?"

"Dammit!" Cradling his side, Tasuki slammed his fist down onto quarterdeck before pushing himself to standing. Chichiri's actions were starting to piss him off. What the hell was wrong with him? He growled and tossed his head, a scowl dominating his expression. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine."

"At least let me treat the bruises to keep down any potential swelling."

"Come on, Tasuki. Let's take you below and let Mitsukake patch you up," Nuriko said. He maneuvered Tasuki aft across the quarterdeck toward the stairway as they followed Mitsukake.

"I said I was fine!"

\- o - o - o -

_Just as he hit the water's surface, a hand grabbed hold of his wrist in a warm, vice-like grip. It pulled him up onto the riverbank and away from the edge. Houjun coughed and choked, spitting up the river water that had entered his lungs. He lay sprawled on the grass in the pouring rain, his cerulean hair stuck to the sides of his face by blood and water._

_The same hand that had plucked him from the river hauled him up and into a tight embrace. Two arms held him close to a strong chest. A steady heartbeat pulsed under his ear and all around him he could smell leather. Houjun struggled to look at this person who had saved him, coming face to face with two golden eyes that gazed at him from under a curtain of fiery red hair. The man's lips curved in a smile._

" _I told yah I wouldn't let yah die."_

" _Tasuki," he breathed._

_Tasuki leaned in slowly, warm breath fanning over his face. Houjun felt him brush his lips against his and gasped. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing Tasuki's heavy exhalations. Again Tasuki slowly brushed his lips against Houjun's, this time more forceful, more insistent. Houjun shuddered as Tasuki brought his hand up to the side of his face. Tasuki caressed his bloody cheek, running his thumb over the scar tissue that sealed his eye. "Ngh," Houjun moaned, surprised by the throb in his groin the touch evoked._

_Tasuki smiled before taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Houjun moaned against the redhead's mouth as Tasuki pushed his tongue between his slightly parted lips. He clutched at the leather-coat-clad expanse of Tasuki's back. He thrust his hips and arousal against the evidence of Tasuki's own._

_Houjun leaned back into Tasuki's hand as it slid behind his head to twine in the long, cerulean hair of his ponytail. His stomach fluttered as the redhead pushed his tongue deeper into his mouth. He felt like he was beginning to drown in Tasuki's arms. Chest heaving, Houjun thrust faster, desperate to ease the tangible ache in his groin. Tasuki growled, a low, seductive sound deep in his chest, and pushed him back onto the mattress. Breaking the kiss, Tasuki straddled his legs, eyes never leaving his face as he pulled off the heavy leather coat and discarded it on the brick floor below. "Nggghh." Houjun's eye fluttered closed as Tasuki pulled open the knots in the sash at his waist, hips rising from the bed as his cock strained to connect with him, any part of him, again. He heard Tasuki chuckle before pulling the belt from his body and dropping it and the long tassel tied to a jade disk over the side of the mattress with a clack. Pushing open the crimson-stained blue silk robe, Tasuki pulled at the belt holding his pants closed. Houjun opened his eye, moaning again as Tasuki brushed lightly against his cock. "Nghh!" His back arched at the sensation, steely flesh quivering with anticipation._

_Tasuki's other hand deftly untied the closure on the ivory tunic he wore beneath the robe, the last impediment to his lean alabaster chest. A warm, exploratory hand snuck under the linen fabric and Tasuki pushed it aside as he traced the muscles of Houjun's stomach. "Nggh..." Houjun moaned as Tasuki ran his fingertips over a taut nipple, his slow pace agonizing. He pulled impatiently at his waistband, willing Tasuki to work faster. "Please..." Tasuki chuckled again at his insistence, brilliant golden eyes locking with his delirious mahogany as he shifted back on Houjun's legs, pulling the linen pants down. His rigid member springing free from its confinement, Houjun thrust his hips toward Tasuki in supplication, a loud groan of impatience on his lips, fingers flexing in the tangled sheets. With a growl, Tasuki leaned down and engulfed his solid cock with his hot mouth._

"Suzaku," Chichiri rasped into the stillness. His voice was husky as his senses slowly awakened from the dream, his heart pounding. He lay there looking up at the dark ceiling of his cabin. Cold sweat tracked rivulets down his unmasked face. Blinking drowsily, he brought a torpid hand to his forehead and brushed his bangs out of his eye.  _The same dream, only now..._ Fragmented images and sensations ran through him: Tasuki's mouth on his own, the scent of leather, warm, seductive hands on his body, silk sheets twined between his fingers. Chichiri shivered. He hadn't had an erotic dream like that since Hikou died.

Sitting up, he perched on the edge of the bed, his weight making a deep depression in the thin mattress. The movement drew the linen of his pants tight against his groin, and he could feel his morning erection hardening into one of desire. He inhaled sharply. Electric sparks of lust ran through him, bringing the dream again into explicit focus. He ran an unsteady hand through his damp and tangled bangs. He couldn't stay there, in the dark and stale atmosphere of his room, nor could he hope to get back to sleep. Not after that. He rose, pulling his rumpled kesa around him, and padded on bare feet across the wooden floor. Opening the door, he stepped out into the dim hallway and quietly closed it behind him.

\- o - o - o -

A ruddy last quarter moon hung low above the river valley. It painted the ship's decks, sails, masts, and the landscape as far as the eye could see with a dim silver glow. Gauzy clouds clung in places to the starlit sky, ringing the moon with a hazy halo. None of the lanterns that served to illuminate the quarter- and main decks were lit; they had been extinguished hours before. The low rush of water streaming past the ship's sides and the deep wooden creak of the rudder were the only sounds on the nearly deserted deck. A pair of sailors stood watch on the weather deck, keeping an eye on the ship's heading and adjusting the tack accordingly.

Chichiri silently crossed the quarterdeck, descending the short staircase to the main deck, and headed for the bow of the ship. The night had put a chill into the constant breeze that blew over the water. It ruffled his ponytail and he pulled his kesa tighter around himself. A few paces back from the ship's open bow he dropped down to the deck. Hugging his knees to his chest, he pillowed his chin on his tunic-clad forearms. So many times in his teens he'd gone down to the river in the small hours of the morning to think, to clear his head and satisfy his body after a dream like the one he'd just had. Only then, the subject of his fantasies was Hikou.

Dark hair and dark eyes. Thin, willowy even, and only slightly taller. Older, but only by a year and a half. Quiet, reserved, and well-spoken around his elders. Witty and with a bawdy sense of humor around Kouran and himself. Chichiri watched low, silvery waves break upon the sandy riverbanks far ahead. Whether Hikou had ever known how he felt about him, he had no idea. They'd never spoken of it, even on the few occasions Hikou had found him down by the river's edge in the middle of the night. But what he wouldn't have given to feel the warm weight of Hikou on top of him, his lips and tongue eagerly exploring his mouth, his hands fervently working his member until they both came in a mess of cum and sweat and tangled limbs.

He shuddered, the fire in his groin now an inferno that even the cold seeping into him from the deck beneath him couldn't extinguish. He'd loved Hikou more than anything he'd ever known, save maybe his mother and his sister. Six long and agonizing years had passed since Hikou's death at his hand. Yet, the thought of him still made his pulse race and his breath stop, made his cock hard and his heart ache. Exactly how he felt about Tasuki now. He gasped.  _Holy Suzaku..._

"Chiri? What're  **you**  doin' up this late?"

Chichiri jumped, heart pounding in his chest, stomach in his throat.  _Tasuki..._ Eye wide, he whipped around to find Tasuki standing a few paces behind him next to the foremast, leaning his shoulder against the massive pine column. His loose-fitting pants fluttered in the light breeze, pulling taut against his powerful body and outlining the bulge of his member. Chichiri couldn't speak as Tasuki padded closer, barefoot, and gazed down at him.

"Damn, it's cold out here."

A ring of linen bandages bound Tasuki's ribs, tied off just below his bare chest. Chichiri swallowed hard as the silver glow picked out Tasuki's nipples, firm and erect in the cool night air. Blood thundered in his ears, its tempo equaled only by the throb of his engorged cock in the confines of his pants. Heat spread across his face as his entire body flushed a scalding crimson.

"Yah mind if I join yah?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," Chichiri said, his voice a husky whisper, and shifted to sit cross-legged. He shuddered as his pants pulled against his erection. The near-constant arousal was beginning to physically ache. He watched Tasuki drop down cross-legged to the deck. Taking the end of the kesa, Tasuki wrapped it around his own shoulders before snugging up against him on his left, pressing their arms and sides together. Inhaling sharply at the warmth of Tasuki's body next to his, Chichiri's eye fluttered closed. Images from his dream returned to the forefront of his mind with renewed vehemence.

"So..." Letting the word float off his tongue and disappear into the night, Tasuki looked out across the moonlit river's surface. The breeze tousled his hair and blew the long strands back from his face. The chill air felt invigorating on his skin, but he much preferred to be huddled with Chichiri under the soft wool of his kesa. Their bodies were so close he could feel the subtle rise and fall of Chichiri's chest as he breathed. Warm and surrounded by the scent of honey, sandalwood, and masculinity, Tasuki didn't know exactly what to do. "Couldn't sleep," he said. And it was true: he'd spent most of the afternoon and evening after Mitsukake had bandaged his ribs and a good portion of the night thereafter brooding over Chichiri's hasty departure. "How 'bout you?"

Chichiri said nothing and an awkward silence descended over the two seishi. Tasuki. Fiery red hair and golden eyes. Thin, but powerfully muscular. Younger and by nearly seven years. Brash, loud, and foul-mouthed around almost everyone. Quiet and thoughtful seemingly only around him. Nearly the exact opposite of Hikou, but he wanted him just as much. He could feel Tasuki shift next to him. Chichiri's mind was drowning in the fantasy of giving in to the feel of his lips, the scent of his hair, the sound of his voice, the sight of his naked body, the taste of his skin. Guilt and loneliness, self-loathing and self-deprivation, fear: Chichiri knew all these things. But maybe, he thought, maybe he could forget about them in Tasuki's arms. At least for a little while.

Tasuki looked over at Chichiri. The moon's light highlighted the scar tissue closing his eye and dusted his hair with silver, just as it had the first night they'd met. "Why're yah avoidin' me?"

Chichiri felt feverish next to Tasuki's body and the linen of his tunic was much too stifling in the wash of scorching heat radiating from his own. "I'm not."  _Tasuki..._

"Like hell yer not," Tasuki shot back. "Ever since dinner last night, yah've been doin' everythin' yah fuckin' can t' stay away from me an' I wanna know why."

The faint scent of dried sweat on Tasuki's skin sent a spark of electricity down Chichiri's spine, his breath now a quiet pant. He struggled to keep his voice even. "I'm not avoiding you." His head swam as he sat there silent under the intense scrutiny, his heart pounding, his face flushed, his body tense. He could feel his resolve wavering. Soon, it would fail completely.

Tasuki growled deep within his chest and scowled. "Don't fuckin' lie t' me, Chiri." Throwing off the half of the kesa he'd had draped around his broad shoulders, he turned his body to face him and sat up on his knees. The night air felt many degrees colder away from the warmth of Chichiri's touch.

The last vestiges of Chichiri's better judgment warred with the blind need of his body and he turned away. He couldn't face him. If he looked at Tasuki now, if their eyes met, he knew that he couldn't stop himself. He didn't want to stop himself.

"An' don't fuckin' ignore me," Tasuki growled and grabbed Chichiri's chin. He jerked Chichiri's head around to look him in the eye. He started when he finally met his gaze.  _Holy..._ Chichiri's eye was wide, its color a smoky onyx in the moonlight, much darker and much more intense than the black of the sky behind him. Lips parted, Chichiri's expression was one of horror and of a ravenous desire Tasuki hadn't seen since that night after the summoning ceremony had failed.

_I..._ That close and with Tasuki's hand on his chin and hot breath fanning over his face, Chichiri let the remainder of his restraint slip away. With a burst of testosterone and adrenaline, he seized Tasuki's shoulders and pushed him down to the cold wooden planking of the main deck. Tasuki looked up at him in mute stupefaction, his bare chest heaving with the force of his ragged breaths.  _Please..._ Straddling his thigh, Chichiri planted his hands to either side of Tasuki's head and quickly leaned down to capture his lips. He moaned into Tasuki's mouth as he pressed their bodies together. A shudder ran straight through him as his aching cock met Tasuki's hip.

Shock and awe warred within Tasuki as he felt Chichiri's rock-hard erection through the linen of his pants. His own groin throbbed as his member sprang to life under Chichiri's thigh, each movement of the monk eliciting a breathy gasp from him. Chichiri ravished his mouth with his tongue, lust and desire making for passionate enthusiasm if not refined technique. Coherent thought came in fits and starts. His mind was a jumble. All that time Chichiri had spent trying to act as if nothing was going on between them had been a lie. Chichiri wanted him. Badly. Just as badly as he wanted Chichiri. He moaned as Chichiri began to thrust against him with increasing urgency.

The smell of sweat and of sex invaded Chichiri's senses and he ran a shaky hand across Tasuki's chest, nimble fingers brushing past his nipple. Tasuki arched his back and groaned, a deep, impatient sound full of need and desire. Chichiri's head spun as Tasuki slid his hand between them and pulled roughly at the knot in the linen belt holding his pants closed. Sliding his other hand behind Chichiri's head, Tasuki cradled the back of his neck. He twined his fingers in the long ponytail and slowly pulled back from the kiss. Hot lips and hotter breath against his ear sent a shiver down Chichiri's spine.

"Suzaku, I want yah..." Tasuki buried his face in the hair at Chichiri's temple, breathing deep the monk's scent. "I've wanted t' fuck yah since that night we went t' Kutou."

_Kutou..._ Chichiri's eye widened in panic and the pit of his stomach dropped out. Images of soldiers fighting, bleeding, and dying flashed across his mind's eye. Eiyou burned around him and above it, the dragon-god Seiryuu hovered with a broken Suzaku hanging from its jaws.  _No..._ Desperately, he fought his way out of Tasuki's grasp and pushed himself up to his knees.

"Huh?" Confusion swirled in Tasuki's mind amidst the persistent throbbing of his cock and the rushing of blood in his veins. He reached out to touch Chichiri's cheek. "Chiri? What–"

Chest heaving, Chichiri flinched away from Tasuki's outstretched hand. As celestial warriors, they had a duty to summon Suzaku to prevent Kutou from invading Kounan. If they didn't find the Shinzahou, more innocents would die. He couldn't turn his back on everything just for this. People were already dead because of him. Their deaths could have been prevented if he'd only been more focused on his mission and less on his feelings for the redhead beneath him. And, he knew in his heart, those feelings would only harm Tasuki in the end. Giving himself up to this selfish desire would be to betray his country, his priestess, and his duty. "This was a mistake..." he breathed.

"What?" Tasuki let his arm fall back to his side at the stricken look on Chichiri's face. "What's wrong?"

"I-I shouldn't have done this," Chichiri stammered and came quickly to his feet. Brow furrowed, he shook his head and glanced down at the supine redhead. Tasuki's eyes were dark with desire and his expression was one of almost pained bewilderment. "I'm sorry." He stooped mid-stride to grab his nearly forgotten kesa from the deck as he retreated back up the main deck to the quarterdeck staircase.

"Chiri! Wait!" Tasuki struggled to his knees. "Dammit! Chiri!" Slumping back on his heels, he ran an unsteady hand through the windblown mane of his hair. He watched Chichiri's shadowy form disappear into the blackness of the belowdecks stairway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 6
> 
> **Weather Deck** → on a vessel, the uppermost continuous deck exposed to the weather (in this story, the third and uppermost of three decks on the ship)  
>  **Quarterdeck** → the part of a weather deck that runs aft from the midship area or the main mast to the stern or poop of a vessel (in this story, the second and middle of three decks on the ship)  
>  **Stem** → the forward part of a vessel  
>  **Shouryuu River** → a river in northern Kounan running roughly east-west; near its eastern end, it flows into Kutou; it runs very close to Choukou, Souen, and Chichiri's village  
>  **Souen** → city in northern Kounan, it's the neighboring city to Choukou and is close to Chichiri's hometown  
>  **Bitterling** → Spiny Bitterling (Acanthorhodeus macropterus), a temperate freshwater fish native to China and measuring up to 6 inches in length  
>  **Grass Carp** → (Ctenopharyngodon idella) an herbivorous, freshwater fish native to China that can measure up to 3.5 feet in length and weigh up to 115 pounds  
>  **Tangcu Liyu** → Sweet and Sour Carp, traditional Cantonese seafood dish  
>  **Operculum** → technical name for the gill cover of fish and amphibians  
>  **Youcai** → blanched greens in oyster sauce  
>  **Chao Fan** → fried rice  
>  **Xiaren Chao Doufu** → tofu stuffed with shrimp, scallions, and ginger, then fried  
>  **Hai Huang Geng** → Cantonese seafood soup, literally "sea emperor thick soup"  
>  **Touran** → capital and largest city in Hokkan, located near the center of the country  
> 


	7. Between Mind & Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group gets a lead in the search for the Shinzahou, and Tasuki has finally had enough.

"Hey, Tasuki! Wait up, will you?"

Tasuki bristled and scowled to himself, fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth. Nuriko was out to lecture him, he just knew, and after last night, he didn't want to hear it. Jamming his hands in his coat pockets, he kept walking.

"Tasuki! Are you listening to me?! Tasuki!"

"What th' fuck d'yah want?!" He stopped and, with a growl, spun on his heel. A short way down the rough hillside he saw Nuriko hurrying toward him, rubbing his hands vigorously together.

Barely perceptible white puffs of breath streamed from Nuriko's lips into the azure sky as he made his way up to Tasuki. "What is your problem today?" he shot back, eyes narrowing. "You know, you've had an attitude since we got off the boat. Are you angry Miaka showed you up in the battle with Soi?"

Tasuki snorted as his gaze swept back down to the shore and the near-wreck of the ship. It listed gently to starboard where it sat beached like a great whale on the sandy strand. The burned remains of the canvas sails and hemp rigging flapped in the chill breeze. He frowned as he watched the short, round shape of the ship's captain totter around the quarterdeck directing his remaining sailors and the few Kounan soldiers still alive in the tasks of cleanup and repair.

Soi's artificially created storm had blown in just moments after Miaka commanded him to burn a few already-singed strands of her hair. How that Seiryuu bitch had found them, he didn't know, but her lightning had nearly torn the ship apart. Each strike carved gaping pockmarks in the deck and set parts of the ship ablaze. Soldiers and sailors died around them, some tossed into the ocean by the roiling waves as they crashed over the bulwarks, others burned to death or were crushed by debris tossed around by the heaving ship. He himself had been swept overboard as well, and if not for Nuriko tossing him that rope, he would have drowned, he knew it.

After Miaka, Tamahome, and Nuriko had fallen in and been pulled out to sea, Chichiri had tried to use his powers to find them. They'd spent hours searching, all the while battling to keep the nearly destroyed ship afloat. It was a wonder they'd survived at all. Still, in all that time spent looking and even after they'd finally found their missing priestess and seishi, Chichiri hadn't spoken a word to him. Even when the crippled vessel had crashed into the cliffs and Soi had arrived on the ship to finish them off, the monk had said nothing. And even after Miaka had beaten the bitch back with her own lightning and they'd limped to shore, Chichiri had ignored him. It was like what had happened between them had never occurred. Memories of the night before and Chichiri's words filled his mind:  _"This was a mistake... I-I shouldn't have done this. I'm sorry."_

He caught sight of Chichiri coming up the path from the beach quite a few paces behind Nuriko and himself. Chichiri conversed with Mitsukake as Chiriko, obviously lacking his character mark, skipped along in front of the pair. His mask betrayed no hint of his thoughts or emotions behind the perpetual smile it always wore and that irritated Tasuki even more. His eyes narrowed.  _"_ _A mistake?" What th' fuck's_ _ **that**_ _s'pose'ta mean?_  An electric spark ran unbidden down his spine as he remembered the warmth of Chichiri's lips and the unbridled passion of his tongue as it searched his mouth. Even after relieving the immediate ache in his groin on deck, he'd still spent the rest of the night in his cabin replaying the scene over and over until his hand cramped.  _How c'n what I_ _ **know**_ _we_ _ **both**_ _felt be a fuckin' "mistake?"_ Tasuki growled once more, a low and vicious noise, and turned to stalk back down the trail.

"Honestly," Nuriko sighed, falling into step, "get over it already. Miaka beat her, not you. Let someone else get the credit for once." Tasuki gave no reply and the conversation dropped off into silence. Chill clouds of breath streamed out behind them as they walked, borne away by the constant breeze. Nuriko shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. "I don't know why His Majesty didn't order that we take along some warmer clothing on this trip. It's so cold and it's only midday!" He looked over and smirked. "If you were a gentleman, you'd let me wear your coat," he sang.

Tasuki snorted. "No fuckin' way." His fingertips brushed the edge of the bronze coin still tucked in his pocket. Taking it in his hand, he gently traced the embossed constellations on its surface again and again.

"By the way, what in the world were you doing last night?"

Tasuki's stomach caught in his throat and he whipped his head around to look at Nuriko.  _So 'e did hear..._

"Don't you know it's rude to slam doors that late? You woke me out of a wonderful dream about His Highness."

Tasuki let out his pent-up breath and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "None o' yer fuckin' business," he rumbled.

"This doesn't have anything to do with Soi or Miaka, does it?" Nuriko cocked his head, a slender eyebrow raising as he scrutinized the perturbed redhead.

"Just ferget it." What the hell was going on? He'd asked Chichiri for an answer, a reason for ignoring him, and instead he'd pinned him down and seduced him. And then, he'd just gotten up and left. _"_ _This was a mistake..."_ Chichiri's words echoed still in his mind. He couldn't really feel that way, could he? That being with him was a mistake?

"Oh no, Red. You don't do this whole broody act without wanting someone to say something about it," Nuriko said and grabbed Tasuki's coat-clad arm. "What's going on?"

"Is everything alright, Nuriko?" Miaka called back to the two men from where she walked next to Tamahome several paces further ahead.

"Everything's fine." Nuriko grinned and hugged Tasuki's arm to his chest. "Tasuki here was just offering to lend me his coat."

"I was not!"

Miaka laughed, and with a smile, turned to continue her conversation.

Letting go, Nuriko crossed his arms and glanced back at the rest of the Shichiseishi. The three other men were well out of earshot. "Well, let's hear it."

Tasuki bared his fangs. "Dammit, fine! I was this close t' fuckin' 'im last night, then 'e just gets up an' walks away," he growled, a resonant sound that emanated from deep within his chest. "This ain't a fuckin' 'mistake!' How could it be 'a mistake?'"

"Oh, Suzaku..." Nuriko brought a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide. "How could you?"

Tasuki scowled. "What th' fuck're yah talkin' about?"

"You idiot!" With a pronounced frown, Nuriko reached out and smacked Tasuki in the back of the head. "You have no self-control at all! You went and slept with him, didn't you?" he demanded, more of a statement than a question. "I can't believe you'd risk messing everything up just for your own ego. Why did I ever think you'd actually listen to what I told you?" He let out a long, deep sigh, the frosty mist of his breath rising like a column before being dispersed by the wind.

"Ow!" Tasuki scowled and rubbed the sore spot. "Don't fuckin' hit me fer no reason.  **He**  threw 'imself at  **me**."

"What?!" Head whipping around to look back at Chichiri, Nuriko covered his mouth with both hands. Fortunately, neither Chichiri nor Mitsukake nor Chiriko seemed to have heard his outburst. Only Chiriko took any notice of him at all. He waved to Nuriko, the sleeve of his teal coat flapping, a cherubic smile on his face. With a smile of his own, Nuriko returned the greeting and turned his attention back to Tasuki. His look of shock was replaced with a scowl. "You have got to be joking. Chichiri wouldn't do something like that," he declared.

"Oh yeah? We were up on deck last night talkin' when 'e pushed me down an' started kissin' me. Got real into it, too. Had 'is hands all over me. I tell 'im I've been wantin' t' fuck 'im since we went t' Kutou an' try t' undo 'is belt, then 'e just gets up an' leaves, sayin', 'This was a mistake.'" Tasuki glanced back over his shoulder at Chichiri. Nothing was right anymore, normal anymore. And it hadn't been since the moment their eyes met. "Dammit! Why th' fuck's this so hard?!" he cried in frustration, running both hands through his hair. "I know what I felt! It ain't 'a mistake!'"

Nuriko shook his head, dumbfounded. He tried to put that revelation and the image that went with it aside for the moment. "Well, what do you expect? Of course he'd leave if you told him that! Honestly, what is wrong with you?"

"Stop fuckin' lecturin' me! I ain't in the mood!" Tasuki retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and hastened his pace.

The old and disused game trail they had been following dwindled down to nothing before disappearing at the foot of a rocky rise. Half-barren oak and ash trees along with towering pines dotted the boulder-strewn hillside, their branches swaying in the chilly breeze. In the top of one of the nearby pines a squirrel chittered away, its fluffy reddish-gray tail lashing the dark brown tree trunk. Shielding his eyes from the bright yet cold sunlight with his hand, Tasuki looked up to find Miaka and Tamahome nearly at the summit.

"Wow! It's a meadow! And just look at all the fluffy sheep!"

Tasuki heard her excited outburst as he picked his way around moss-covered boulders and rocky outcroppings on his way up. Cresting the rise, the fairly rugged landscape they had been traveling through opened out into a vast rolling plain. It was broken only by clumps of stark white birch trees and low ridges like the one they had just scaled. A large flock of sheep grazed on the still-green grass, bleating softly as they did. In the distance a line of snow-capped mountains stood watch, their peaks shrouded in clouds.

The crisp breeze that had followed them from the ship picked up with no obstructions to slow it. Nuriko came to a stop next to Tasuki. He blew into his cupped hands. "They need that wool. It's cold here!" he exclaimed. "Tasuki, use that fan of yours to light us a fire."

"I don't use it fer stupid things like that, yah moron."

Nuriko took Tasuki's elbow and led him a few paces away from Miaka and Tamahome, just in time to miss Mitsukake, Chiriko, and Chichiri's arrival at the top of the hill. "Just do it, will you?" Tasuki scowled but complied, channeling some of his divine power through his hand and into the tessen. The diamond fan sparkled with a crimson glow, a cozy heat radiating from it. "Do you love him?" Nuriko asked quietly as he warmed his hands.

"What? How th' hell should I know?!" Tasuki sputtered, taken aback by the directness of the question.

Nuriko rolled his eyes and jerked his chin toward Chichiri. "You owe it to yourself and to him to figure it out." Rubbing his hands together, Nuriko sighed. "Some of us just weren't meant to find love and keep it, you know," he whispered and looked away. A long moment passed before he looked up again, staring Tasuki directly in the eyes. "That's why it's so important to say something when you do. I'm serious, Red. Tell him by the time we get the Shinzahou, or I  **will**  tell him myself."

Tasuki scowled and glanced over at Chichiri, who stood between Mitsukake and Tamahome.  _"Do you love him?"_ Kouji had told him once what love was supposed to be like: heart racing, gut clenching, all senses entranced by the beauty of a woman. He'd laughed in Kouji's face as he described the senselessness of a love-struck man's actions, so head over heels that the poor guy didn't know up from down. Tasuki had been certain he'd never feel that way about anyone. After all, leading the bandit's life was all that he ever wanted: power, prestige, a sense of belonging, pride, and after the boss's death, responsibility, respect. How could any woman match that? But, was that what he felt now? About Chichiri? Love? Tossing his head, he looked away.  _ **Dammit**_ _._

Mitsukake looked around at the wide plain. "So, how do you think we should proceed from here?" Tama-neko poked his furry head out of Mitsukake's tunic and sniffed the air. His ears swiveled back and forth as he listened to the bleating of the sheep.

"I'm pretty sure this country is three times larger than Kounan, no da," Chichiri said, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the chill. He hazarded a glance at Tasuki. He let his mask and its perpetual smile hide the troubled look on his true face. The storm and the subsequent battle with Soi had prevented any discussion between them about what had happened the night before and Chichiri was glad about it.

What would he say? What could he say? That his actions were merely the result of loneliness? Pent up frustration? Weakness? Could he laugh it off? Pretend it didn't happen? He sighed to himself. No, he couldn't ignore  **that**.  _"Suzaku, I want yah... I've wanted t' fuck yah since that night we went t' Kutou."_  Those lusty, breathless words echoed through his mind still, punctuating every thought, every action, every moment since they'd been whispered into his ear. This magnetic attraction was purely physical, an immediate gratification, wasn't it? Sex for its own sake, right? It had to be; he couldn't allow himself to think of it as anything else.

"Three times?!" Tamahome shouted as he spun to face the two older seishi. "So how are we supposed to find the Shinzahou if we don't even know which direction to start off in? We're completely clueless!" Receiving no answer, he huffed and threw up his hands. He turned to look out over the vast plain, a pronounced frown on his lips.

Miaka patted him on the arm. "Don't worry, we'll think of something. I know it," she said, smiling up at him.

Letting out a long sigh, Tamahome placed a gentle hand on her head. "How you can be so optimistic about this, I have no idea."

A hint of movement nearly a li distant caught Tasuki's eye and he cocked his head, a wry expression on his face. "Hey, you guys see that?" Sheathing his tessen, he stepped away from the group, putting his hand to this forehead to block the bright sun.

"See what, Tasuki?" Miaka placed own her hand on her forehead and squinted in the direction Tasuki was pointing.

"There's a rider comin' this way."

"What? Are you sure?" Tamahome scanned the sheep-filled plain for a long moment before frowning. "I don't see anything."

Tasuki dropped his hand. "I ain't lyin'. There's a horse headed this way."

Several tense and quiet minutes passed as the Shichiseishi waited for the rider Tasuki predicted. The only sound was the bleating of sheep and the rush of the wind. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the deep, thunderous cadence of hoofbeats rose out of the background noise, growing steadily louder with each second. The shape of a horse with a small rider coalesced, galloping across the grassland with frightening speed. As the rider raced closer, terrified, high-pitched screams cut through the chill air.

Miaka gasped. "A little boy!"

The child clung to the dark brown horse's neck. His small fingers tangled in the animal's thick black mane. His short legs struggled to keep hold of the horse's compact body, but as it zagged to the side to avoid a clump of grazing sheep, he lost his balance and began to slip. "Help me!"

"He's about to fall off!" Tamahome cried, jumping into the path of the runaway animal. It screamed, nostrils flaring. The whites of its eyes showed as it spooked and it reared back on its hind legs. Tamahome leapt up and snatched the child from its back, tucking him under his arm as he came to land a few paces away. "You're safe now, kid!"

"Tamahome!" Miaka's eyes went wide and she clutched her hands to her chest.

Tamahome looked back over his shoulder just as the animal shifted back to all four legs, bringing its full weight down on him and the boy. Cradling the child to his chest, he took the brunt of the horse's hooves as it bucked and kicked at him. Each wicked blow wrenched an anguished cry from him, but he didn't let go of the boy or move from the horse's path. Fear spent, the animal trotted off into the sea of sheep to graze.

Miaka rushed to Tamahome's side. She traced the dirty hoofprints on the back of his crimson silk tunic with a forefinger. "Tamahome? Are you alive?"

"Oh, mister. Are you okay?" the boy asked. He peered at his savior from beneath the edge of a mossy-green woolen felt hat.

Tamahome grunted as he pushed himself up to his knees, brows knitted with pain. "Fine. Fine."

"Let me take a look at your injuries, Tamahome." As Tamahome gingerly untied the clasps holding his tunic closed, Mitsukake rummaged in his coat pockets and pulled out a small earthenware jar. "This may sting a bit." He removed the jar's oiled leather cover and gently applied the salve to the amaranth u-shaped bruises rising from Tamahome's back.

Miaka reached out a hand to the boy. "Are you okay?" She smiled at his skeptical look. "Don't worry, we're not going to hurt you. I'm Miaka, and this," she said, gesturing to the fighter and the healer, "is Tamahome and Mitsukake." Rising from her place next to Tamahome, she waited for the child to stand as well. Once he had, she gestured to the other four seishi. "And these people are Chiriko, Nuriko, Tasuki, and Chichiri."

"H-hello," he squeaked, keeping his head bowed. "Thank you for saving me." He fidgeted with the hem of his felt coat and toed the grass with his boot. Looking up at Miaka, he suddenly took on a very serious expression. "You're not going to tell the other boys in the village about this, are you?"

Miaka giggled and shook her head. "No, we won't tell."

Chichiri cocked his head, his kesa ruffling in the breeze. "Where is your village, no da?"

The boy pointed across the plain in the direction he had come. "It's only a few minutes ride from here, past the grazing lands and at the foot of that mountain."

"Great," Tasuki growled, fangs bared, and crossed his arms over his chest. "So since we're walkin', it's gonna be fuckin'  **hours**  'til we get there."

With a cry of alarm, the boy threw himself at the now-standing and redressed Tamahome. He clutched at Tamahome's leg with all his strength. He peeked over his shoulder at the group, brown eyes wide.

"Aw, come on, Tasuki." Tamahome placed a reassuring hand on the boy's head. "Don't scare the poor kid with that scary face of yours."

"Hey!" Tasuki took a menacing step forward, eyes narrowed. "Yah asshole!"

"Mr. Scary-face! Mr. Scary-face!"

"Now yah've got 'im callin' me names! Thanks a fuckin' lot!"

Nuriko rolled his eyes. "Really, grow up, you two." He breathed into his cupped hands. The warm air became a cloud of mist as it streamed away from his lips. Wrapping his arms around his narrow chest, he shivered. "I, for one, am cold, tired, and hungry. So, why don't we put the name-calling aside and start walking already?"

Tasuki growled and gave Tamahome a dirty look before starting off across the grassy plain, his hair tousled by the wind.

Chichiri watched him go for a moment before looking over at Miaka. "The village elder might know something about the Shinzahou's whereabouts, na no da."

"That's a great idea," she said. Skipping off after the angry redhead, she stopped several paces ahead of the slower-moving balance of the Shichiseishi. Turning back with a wide grin, she waved them on. "Come on, let's go! We missed lunch already. I don't want to miss dinner!"

\- o - o - o -

The group made its way into camp close to sunset, just as the cold sun began its descent behind the snow-capped peaks in the distant west. Bright oranges and pinks painted the bottoms of the clouds hugging their summits, gradually darkening to reds and purples and finally to the deep navy of twilight. No less than a dozen whitish yurts sat clustered together in a small grove of pines at the base of a rocky outcrop that abruptly became a sheer cliff face not far above the treetops. A crude split-rail wooden pen flanked the dwellings on the right edge of the camp. Several horses milled about inside while the bulk of the herd grazed farther from camp.

The boy rushed from Tamahome's side toward a yurt near the center of the camp. "Over here!" he cried, turning back to urge the tired seishi on. As they approached, he flung open the heavy felt door and ran inside to a short, brown woman clad in bright maroon and tan felt clothing. "Mother!"

"Chuluun!" she exclaimed as her son embraced her. "What happened? Your horse came back alone several hours ago..."

"We may be able to explain that, no da." Chichiri held up the colorfully embroidered door flap to allow Miaka and the rest of the group to see into the warm yurt.

"Mother, these people found me in the grazing lands and saved me when I nearly fell from my horse."

The woman beamed and beckoned them in. "Please, come in, travelers," she said, bustling around the small dwelling. A rainbow of reds, blues, oranges, greens, and yellows covered every painted surface and piece of fabric. The same geometric pattern on the yurt's door was echoed on the few pieces of furniture and in the plush, handwoven wool carpets the woman pulled out for them sit on. Placing them on the floor near the firepit in the center of the yurt, she removed the lid from a bubbling iron pot nestled in the coals. The savory scent of pepper, garlic, and boiled meat filled the air. "Sit, sit. Please, you must be hungry."

Flopping down onto a pile of embroidered carpets close to the pot, Miaka watched the woman fill a small, embossed bronze bowl with a hearty soup brimming with vegetables, noodles, and meat. "Yes, ma'am!" She eagerly took the dish and a pair of slender copper chopsticks.

"Oh bless you," the woman said after passing out servings of the soup to each seishi as they took a place around the fire. "You saved my son's life. How can I ever repay you?"

Tamahome, directly to Miaka's right, looked up from his meal. "How about fifty cash?"

A scowl on her face and a frown on her lips, Miaka slapped him in the back of the head.

Chichiri sat cross-legged on a carpet with delicate red and blue geometric designs further from the fire and a bit apart from the rest of the group. "We have nowhere to stay, no da. It would be a big help if you could put all of us up for the night, no da." He took a bit of noodle in his chopsticks and glanced across the firepit at Tasuki, who sat between Chiriko and Nuriko. Tasuki glared at him from beneath his bangs, eyes steadily boring into his own as he ate. Frustration, anger, and irritation played in turn across his face as Chichiri had expected they would. He let out a deep breath.  _Damn._

"Yes, of course. By all means." Seeing Miaka watching the soup pot with eyes as round as the bowl in her hands, the woman took her dish and chopsticks and gave her a bronze spoon and another bronze vessel. It was filled this time not with soup, but a fermented cream. "You must all make yourselves at home here. And I'd love to hear about your travels."

Miaka squealed with glee. "Wow! This is great! It tastes like yoghurt!"

Nuriko took a bite of the soup and looked down at the meat in his chopsticks. "I've never tasted anything remotely like it!" Cocking his head, he looked back up at the woman. "Is this lamb?"

"Yes, it's a traditional dish called tsuivan." The woman sat down on one of the carpets near Miaka. The woman's son sat next to her as his sister, a small girl clutching a stuffed leather horse, climbed into her lap. Looking at each seishi in turn, the woman's brown eyes scrutinized every detail of their faces and clothing. "From your exotic dress, I'd say you travelers are from the south beyond the sea. You're quite far from home. What brings you to Hokkan?"

"Yes, ma'am, we're from the empire of Kounan. My name is Miaka and I'm the Priestess of Suzaku." She gestured clockwise around the fire with her spoon. "These are my celestial warriors: Tamahome, Chichiri, Mitsukake, Chiriko, Tasuki, and Nuriko." A ripple of greeting ran around the circle as she continued. "Hotohori, another Warrior, couldn't come with us so he stayed back in Kounan."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't know very much about it, but the legends say that though the Priestess of Genbu was not of this land, her seven Warriors were indeed from our country. Forgive me if I seem rude, but if you serve Suzaku, the god of the south, why are you here in Hokkan?"

"Well," Miaka said sheepishly, a simper on her face, "we had sort of an accident with Kounan's copy of  _The Universe of the Four Gods_." She put down her bowl and fidgeted with the hem of her pleated skirt. "I kind of burned it before I found all seven Stars, so now we can't summon Suzaku with it anymore."

"Oh, my."

Seeing Miaka's discomfort, Chichiri spoke up. "We were told that the Shinzahou of Genbu could help us summon Suzaku, so we traveled here to search for it, no da."

"I see." The woman patted her son on the back and jerked her chin toward the heavy felt door. "Chuluun, run and get your uncle and tell him there are travelers here who wish to speak with the elder." The boy nodded and jumped up, running out the door with all haste. "The elder knows of all the ancient tales of our land. He may be able to tell you more of what you seek."

The heavy flap of felt covering the entrance to the yurt was pushed aside and a brown-skinned middle-aged man with a thick black mustache stepped through. "Wayfarers," he said with a wide smile, "we have brought our elder to meet you." He guided a frail old man leaning heavily on a wooden staff through the doorway with the help of another, much younger tribesman.

"Sure!" Miaka nodded vigorously as she watched the three men make their way around the fire and close to where she sat.

The old man took a seat, flanked by the two other men. His forehead scrunched as he looked her over. His eyes were entirely hidden by his bushy white eyebrows. In a thin, reedy voice, the old man began to speak, his mouth lost under the enormous white beard and mustache adorning his wrinkled face. "I am called Tomoru, high elder of the To Tribe."

Miaka bowed her head. "Nice to meet you."

After a long pause, Tomoru began once more. "So, you've come from Kounan in search of the Shinzahou."

"Yes, sir. That's right." Miaka leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Do you know anything about it?"

"Perhaps I do." Tomoru stroked his beard and cocked his head. "Please remember though, that this is a legend I heard from my grandfather. Supposedly, some two hundred years ago, the Priestess of Genbu came here from an exotic foreign land." A murmur of excitement rippled around the fire. "At that same time in history, Kutou began a violent expansion and targeted this country for attack. But the Priestess of Genbu and the Genbu Seven rallied together to save Hokkan for all time."

Placing his bowl next to him on the dark burgundy carpet, Nuriko raised an eyebrow. "So, you're saying that the priestess summoned the beast god, Genbu?"

Tomoru nodded. "Supposedly. Genbu created a treasure, the Shinzahou, that he bequeathed to us."

"Huh?" The mustached man frowned. "Elder! That's not right! I heard from my father's friend's cousin that the Shinzahou is a small jewel and that Genbu is sealed inside of it."

The younger tribesman shook his head. "No! I heard from my mother's brother's friend that the Priestess of Genbu made it from the hair of the Genbu Seven and that it has great magical power."

Tomoru's wizened fingers tightened around the gnarled shaft of his walking staff. "Are you daring to call my grandfather a liar, young man?"

"Well, I think the Shinzahou is a piece of Genbu's shell that he left behind," said the mustached man as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his felt tunic.

The younger tribesman snorted. "That's not what you just said a few minutes ago!" he cried, jabbing a finger at the mustached man.

"Enough!" Tomoru raised a thin hand to silence his quarreling people and sighed. "In any case, if you go to the central region of Touran, I'm sure that you'll discover where to find the Shinzahou."

From further back in the yurt, Tamahome spoke up. "Can I ask a question?" All eyes turned toward him as he continued. "The Priestess of Genbu. After she summoned Genbu, did she leave this land and return to her own world?"

"Well, that's what I was told but I don't know the details."

"Oh. I see." Tamahome looked off into the fire for a moment before taking another bite of his soup.

\- o - o - o -

Black and frigid night held the small encampment fast. The crescent of the waning moon had set by mid-afternoon and now the only illumination came from the stars and what little light escaped around the felt doors and through the vents at the top of each yurt. Chichiri pulled the borrowed woolen blanket draped over his shoulders tighter as he walked into a sparse patch in the stand of pines surrounding the camp. Few trees blocked the view of the wide sky and the glittering constellations here. Sitting down next to a large tree trunk, he laid his shakujou across his lap. The brass rings chimed softly as he began to polish the ornate scrollwork with the corner of the blanket.

They now had a solid lead in their search for the Shinzahou, he thought. Tomoru had gladly spoken with Chiriko and himself at length after their meal to discuss the necessary preparations for journeying overland to the capital. Tomoru had even offered to collaborate with Chiriko to draw up a map of Hokkan. Chichiri sighed, his breath a ghostly cloud just barely brighter than the surrounding night.  _Three days ride to reach Touran, then potentially another week to find where the Shinzahou rests..._  If they were lucky, they might even be back in Kounan before the end of the month.  _A month..._ A month before they could summon Suzaku and he could leave his obligations to the god of the south and the priestess and be free again to travel the four kingdoms as he chose. He paused in his polishing, the smile on his mask falling to a grim line.  _A month,_ he thought,  _and then..._

"Damn brat," Tasuki growled as he threw open the yurt's felt door. A portal of yellow light lit up the starlit darkness for a moment before he walked out. "Won't fuckin' shut up 'bout my face." He stopped short as he caught a glimpse of Chichiri sitting a short way into the grove of pines from the encampment just before the door fell closed.  _Chiri..._  This was the first time he'd found Chichiri alone since...  _Since last night_ , he thought, running a hand through his unruly hair. A shudder coursed unbidden down his spine as the memory of Chichiri's lips on his rushed back to the forefront of his mind. As did his words:  _"This was a mistake..."_  He scowled. There was no way he could leave things they way they were now.

"Dammit. Whad'd I ever do t' that fuckin' kid anyhow?"

Chichiri's heart leapt into his throat as Tasuki flopped down next to him, throwing himself back against the tree trunk in a display of irritation. Turning his head minutely to his right, he watched him fold his coat-clad arms behind his head. Taking a few deep breaths to calm the rush of blood in his ears, Chichiri continued to polish his staff. The silvery clink of its rings against the ornate brass metalwork was the only sound for a long moment. "What happened, no da?" he hazarded after several minutes of tense silence.

"I asked th' damn kid if 'e wanted t' play catch er somethin', but 'e just cried an' ran t' hide behind Tama." Tasuki turned his head to glance at Chichiri. The monk kept his focus on his shakujou and didn't look up. Tasuki's scowl deepened and he dropped his head back on his arms to gaze out at the star-filled night.

Down the small hill on which the encampment sat, the vast plain stretched out toward the horizon. The blacker shapes of sheep and horses milling about broke the almost uniform dusk of the grass, though just barely. Without the moon's light, everything lay steeped in varying degrees of shadow. It was a world of dim and murky gray under a sky of vibrant reds and mellow blues and sparkling silvers.

" _Do you love him?"_  Nuriko's words came back to Tasuki as he sat there under the weight of another uncomfortable silence.  _How 'm I s'posed t' know?_  he thought angrily. Nuriko hadn't told him anything about what love was and how to tell if he was in it or not. Even Kouji's description didn't really describe what he felt for Chichiri. He wanted him in body, but he also wanted just to talk to him, to be near him, to protect him. Was that love? Or just friendship with a healthy dose of lust thrown in?  _Dammit, this ain't gettin' me anywhere..._  Tasuki sneered, baring his fangs in the starlit darkness. He turned again to Chichiri. "Chi–"

"Oh! It's cold!" Miaka exclaimed as she stepped out of the brightly lit yurt, rubbing her upper arms. "Huh?" In the long stretch of yellowy light that poured from inside the dwelling just before the felt door fell closed, she caught sight of Tasuki and Chichiri sitting on the edge of camp under a large pine tree. "Where's Tamahome, guys?" she asked as she walked up. Her footfalls crunched across the thick pad of dry needles littering the ground.

Tasuki grimaced.  _Interrupted again..._  "'E took off somewhere with that fuckin' little kid in tow."

Raising an eyebrow, Miaka leaned down toward Chichiri's ear. "What's the matter with Tasuki?"

"Tasuki's face scared the kid so bad that he started to cry and then he ran away, no da." Chichiri silently thanked Suzaku for Miaka's timely appearance. He knew what Tasuki wanted to say and he wanted no part of it.

"Oh!" she giggled, covering her mouth with one hand.

An angry growl worked its way from deep within Tasuki's chest. "How could that li'l fuckin' pipsqueak think that my face's scary?!"

"Don't blow up at us, no da. Calm down, no da." Without dropping the silly tone, Chichiri allowed a subtle note of irritation to creep into his voice.

A sudden brilliant flash blasted away star and shadow as the yurt door opened. A portal of light once again illuminated the woods around them for a moment before disappearing. "I saw them head into the woods."

"Nuriko," Miaka said, turning toward his voice as she scrubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Nuriko walked over to the near-blind priestess and handed her two woolen blankets. "Bring him a blanket."

She smiled. "That's a good idea." Wrapping one around her shoulders, she took off across the encampment, cradling the other neatly folded blanket to her chest.

Letting out a sigh, Nuriko watched her go for a moment before turning to look down at the two seated seishi.  _First, Miaka and Tamahome, and now these two._  He shook his head, his braid sliding off his shoulder.  _Honestly, do I have to do everything around here?_ He turned and started back toward the encampment. The dry pine needles and fallen twigs crunching under his feet infused the air with the faint scent of balsam. "Don't stay out here too long, you two. We have a long ride ahead of us in the morning," he called back over his shoulder.

Silence pervaded once more, broken only by the gentle rustle of tree branches in the cold night breeze and the soft chiming of the shakujou. One moment passed without a word, then another, then another until Tasuki couldn't take it anymore. He gritted his teeth, his lip curling into a snarl. How could Chichiri just sit there polishing the brass rings on his staff like nothing was going on? Didn't he give a damn about what happened last night? "Yah gonna ignore me all fuckin' night?"

"I'm not ignoring–"

"Don't even start with  **that**  shit again," he growled, cutting Chichiri off in mid-sentence. "I ain't in th' mood, Chiri. I wanna know what th' fuck happened last night.  **Now**."

Chichiri dropped the corner of the blanket in his hand and turned deliberately toward Tasuki. He let out a deep breath. His hope of resolving the situation reasonably had died the moment he'd opened his mouth, apparently. The starlight hid most of Tasuki's features in shadow, but he could see his expression clearly in his mind's eye: fangs peeking out at the corners of lips twisted in a scowl, brows drawn tight, eyes aflame. Quietly, he pushed himself to standing.

Tasuki was on his feet in seconds as Chichiri started to walk away. "Oh, no yah don't!" He grabbed Chichiri's arm. The brass rings of the shakujou clattered as he pulled him close, violently checking his forward movement. "Yer not walkin' away from me again." Tasuki could feel Chichiri tense against him. He heard his breath quicken, clouds of warm breath fanning across his face in the darkness.

Heart pounding, Chichiri struggled to maintain his composure. He glanced back toward the cluster of yurts. Thankfully, none of the villagers or their companions seemed to have heard them. "I am not having this conversation here." Jerking his arm out of Tasuki's grip, he turned and continued down the small hill away from the encampment.

The two walked for a long time through the thick grasses of the starlit plain. The short blades swished about their shoes as they moved farther and farther from the village and the wood in which it sat. Tense minutes passed in leaden silence until only the barest glimmer of light from the tops of each yurt could be seen. High overhead, the Silver River split the heavens in two as it flowed southwestward across the onyx sky. Shining Vega was left stranded on one shore and brilliant Altair on the other.

Tasuki crossed his arms over his chest, as much in irritation as in an attempt to ward off the cold. The night wind seemed much sharper away from camp and out in the middle of the plain. It seeped in at the collar and cuffs of his leather coat, freezing his fingers and sending an involuntary shiver down his back. "Alright," he declared, coming to a stop, "this's far enough, so start talkin'. What th' fuck's goin' on?"

Chichiri stopped a few paces from Tasuki, back to him. Looking off across the plain toward the way they had come earlier that day, he gazed up into the starlit sky. It reminded him of the night of the Qi Xi festival. He'd known then that this time would come, that Tasuki would finally demand an answer. But, despite his own feelings, he couldn't give him the answer he was looking for.  _It's better this way_ , he thought. Voice devoid of any of its usual silliness and purposefully even, he finally spoke. "Nothing. Last night was just a case of bad judgment."

"Like hell!" Tasuki spat. "We both know if yah hadn't walked away, we woulda fucked, so don't even give me this 'bad judgment' crap." The rustle of grass in the wind and the low nickering of horses slowly filled the silence as it became clear to him that Chichiri wasn't going to answer.  _Dammit!_  he swore to himself.  _Why?_  There was a deep and powerful attraction between them, something he couldn't explain. He'd known it since the moment they met and last night wasn't the first time he'd felt it. And he knew Chichiri felt it, too. So, why was Chichiri trying to deny it? What was he hiding? "I'm sick of yah fuckin' ignorin' me! Say somethin'!"

"I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

"'A mistake?!'" Tasuki glowered in the darkness. "Who th' fuck d'yah think yer kiddin'?! That hard-on pressed int' my hip last night said yah wanted it just as much as I did!"

Chichiri shifted where he stood, the rings of his shakujou chiming with the movement. The cold numbed his hands and assaulted his bare ankles. He pulled the woolen blanket tighter to him. For the pleasure of one night, he had been willing to destroy everything, to doom the mission and Kounan. He cursed himself for ever acting on his selfish desires.

" **Dammit**!" Tasuki roared, startling a handful of sheep grazing nearby. The animals bleated in alarm and retreated back toward the encampment. "Fuckin' talk t' me! Tell me why yer doin' this shit, Chiri!"

"What do you want me to say, Tasuki?"

"I wantcha t' tell me th' fuckin' truth!"

Chichiri scowled, frustration rising within him. He had already told him the truth: he made a mistake and he had apologized for it. What else did Tasuki want from him? Did he not realize just how tenuous the situation was for them? He turned to face the angry redhead. "Kounan is on the brink of war. The Seiryuu Seven are likely already in Hokkan searching for the Shinzahou themselves. I won't give the Kutou army any more reason or opportunity to invade than they already have."

"What?!" Tasuki snorted, biting back a laugh. "You think Kutou's gonna invade Kounan if we fuck? That's th' stupidest damn thing I ever heard!"

Chichiri gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on his staff. How dare Tasuki trivialize the importance of their fate and their mission? And for what? Nothing more than his own gratification? "We have a sacred duty to Miaka, as the priestess, and to the people of Kounan to summon Suzaku and I will not jeopardize that to appease your libido!"

"Stop dodgin' th' fuckin' issue, dammit!" Tasuki surged forward, catching Chichiri's shoulders in an iron grip. Leaning down in one quick, fluid motion, he clamped his burning lips over those of the monk, crushing them in a bruising kiss.

Chichiri struggled to free himself as Tasuki forced his tongue between his slightly parted lips, deepening the vicious kiss. An involuntary moan escaped his throat as Tasuki's powerful body pressed tightly to his. A wash of heat and the scent of leather engulfed his senses. The coppery hint of blood invaded his mouth and desperately, he shoved Tasuki away. He trembled, shaken by the flame and desire he felt and powerfully aroused by the kiss's brutality. Planting the shakujou between them like a wall, he took a few hasty steps back. "What do you think you're doing?" he panted, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

Tasuki breathed hard as well. Thick clouds of vapor poured from his mouth as he fought the impulse to kiss him again. His lips throbbed in time with his pounding heart, a fierce and near-instant erection aching for release. Summoning Suzaku, finding the Shinzahou, the mission, Kounan: all of it seemed to pale in comparison to the want, the desire, the need he felt for Chichiri. Maybe, he thought, that was the feeling Kouji meant. "I think I'm in love with yah, Chiri."

"No, you're not," Chichiri retorted. No, he thought, Tasuki wasn't in love with him. He wouldn't allow it.

Tasuki bared his fangs at the condescending tone in Chichiri's voice. He wasn't a child and he wasn't about to let anyone treat him like one. He knew what he felt. Crossing his arms once more, he drew up to his full height. "That's bullshit an' you know it!" he growled. "Yeah, I wanna fuck yah so bad it hurts, but I wanna be with yah even if I never fuck yah at all! I've  **never**  felt like that before in my whole fuckin' life!"

"You're not in love with me! Whatever this is, it's purely physical. Nothing more!"

"Yer  **lyin** '! Yer  **lyin** ' t' my fuckin'  **face**! You an' I  **both**  know it's more than that!"

At every turn, Tasuki barred his way, rebutting every argument and refusing to back down. Nothing he said seemed able to stop Tasuki's stubborn inquest and Chichiri felt trapped. He couldn't love him, nor could he accept the love Tasuki professed. Yet, neither could he tell him of Hikou nor his death at his hand and its aftermath. Backed into a corner, his heart at war with his mind over Tasuki's declaration, his own feelings for the redhead, the guilt and self-loathing over the flood and Hikou's death, his fate and that of his friends, his priestess, and his country, Chichiri shoved back hard. Raising his shakujou, he slammed the butt-end of it down with a horrendous crash of metal on metal. Horses and sheep grazing nearby scattered at the noise. "What do you want from me, Tasuki?! Sex? A relationship? What?!"

"I don't know! I just want  **you**!" Tasuki shot back, alarmed by the sound and the change in Chichiri's demeanor. He'd never heard him so angry before and it confused him. Where was this vitriol coming from?

"I don't love you, Tasuki! I  **have**   **never**  loved you! I  **will**   **never**  love you! We are celestial warriors, bound to Suzaku and in service to him and Kounan, nothing more!" Chichiri shouted. Hikou's death terrified him. He'd killed him. He'd killed him and only after Hikou had been swept away did he realize what he'd lost. If those feelings of jealousy and hatred returned, would he kill Tasuki as well? He couldn't take that chance. He had to push him as far away as he could, for Tasuki's sake as well as his own. Allowing his mask to hide the turmoil on his true face, he forced himself to continue, voice even and emotionless. "After we retrieve the Shinzahou and summon Suzaku, our duty will be done and I will be gone. We won't see each other again. Until then, we have to work together. I suggest you keep that in mind."

Tasuki's eyes narrowed, fangs bared. Everything Chichiri had said was bullshit. Rather than trust him with the truth, Chichiri had decided to hide behind half-assed reasoning and lies. He was sure Chichiri loved him, but he'd rather run than face him or how he felt about him. Stepping forward, Tasuki bypassed the staff and glared down at him. "Fuck you, Chichiri.  **Fuck**. **You** ," he snarled, stabbing a forefinger into Chichiri's chest to punctuate his words. Turning, he stormed off across the dusky plain, back toward the encampment, his leather coat swirling about his boot tops.

\- o - o - o -

Mitsukake smiled at the little girl's amusement. Sitting cross-legged on a heap of wool rugs next to the fire, he watched her toddle about across the floor, her leather horse clutched to her chest. She dangled a scrap of string above Tama-neko's head just out of the cat's reach, giggling and screaming in delight as he jumped for it again and again. As he watched the girl run around the yurt chased by the cat, Mitsukake wondered if this was what it would have been like to have a daughter of his own.  _Shouka..._ A gust of cold air cut through the yurt, ruffling his hair. Looking up, he saw the heavy felt door open and the girl's mother enter.

"Come here," she clucked, stooping down. The child abandoned her game with Tama-neko. She ran to her mother's outstretched arms and the woman scooped her up. "It's time for you to sleep." Settling the girl on her hip, she turned her attention to Mitsukake. "Please, feel free to use our home for the night. We'll be staying next door with my brother."

Getting to his feet, Mitsukake nodded. "Thank you for your hospitality and for allowing us to stay here."

She smiled. "It's no trouble at all. We rarely get visitors to our village, and never such interesting ones."

Following her to the door, he swept it open with a large hand and held it as she ducked through and walked out into the night. "Good night," he said, watching them disappear into the darkness beyond the light pouring from the doorway. The little girl looked back at him over her mother's shoulder and waved before letting out a wide yawn. Mitsukake sighed. Suddenly, from behind him came the crash and crack of branches and the heavy thud of boots on dry pine needles rushing through the trees.  _What–_ He turned just as Tasuki emerged from the grove into the pool of bright firelight, his eyes narrowed, fangs bared, and his face twisted in rage.

"Move," he snapped and barreled straight into Mitsukake, knocking him back a step as he pushed past.

Turning his head to follow Tasuki's charge into the yurt, he frowned. Tasuki ripped the golden sash sheathing his tessen off his chest and over his head. He dropped it in an unceremonious heap before throwing himself down on a rug back from the fire. Mitsukake shook his head and massaged his bruised shoulder with his free hand. He knew Tasuki had a temper; he'd seen it while attending his wounds after the failed mission to Kutou. Yet, even when his dander was up, while he was yelling about some thing or another and threatening violence over it, Tasuki never went so far as to actually hurt someone he considered a friend.

The faint chiming of metal floated to his ear on the cold night breeze, interrupting his thoughts. He turned toward the sound. Long moments passed as it moved closer, getting louder and louder. "Chichiri," he said as the monk finally appeared in the doorway's light. The mirthful smile that usually graced his lips was little more than a grim line. The aura of cheerfulness he usually exuded was gone, replaced by a sobriety Mitsukake had never seen.

"Good evening, Mitsukake, no da," Chichiri said. The corners of his mouth rose just barely. "Pardon me, na no da." Sidestepping him, Chichiri continued into the yurt. His bangs bobbed as he ducked under the felt door.

Mitsukake watched him lay his shakujou atop a pile of rugs before sitting down himself. Several paces away, on the opposite side of the yurt, Tasuki lay on his side with his back to the central firepit as if asleep. Mitsukake raised an eyebrow. The situation reminded him of the sparring match between Tasuki and Tamahome on the ship the afternoon before. At that time, Chichiri had a similar expression just before he walked off.  _Well, that confirms my suspicions,_  he thought. The two seishi were obviously fighting, but why? Tasuki he could understand; the redhead could get irritated over the slightest thing. But Chichiri? What would someone as easy-going as him have to fight about?  _I'll mention it to Chiriko tomorrow. Perhaps he'll have an idea._  As he turned to reenter the warmth of the yurt, he let the heavy felt flap fall closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 7
> 
> **Cash** → cast coins, usually of copper, brass, or iron, rarely of silver or gold, used as currency in China from near the end of the Zhou dynasty (2nd century BCE) until the middle of the 20th century CE  
>  **Tsuivan** → traditional Mongolian stew dish, generally composed of mutton, vegetables, and noodles


	8. The Screen Behind the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the events at Tomoru's village, the Shichiseishi head to Touran.

"Tamahome," Miaka pleaded, the horror on her face heightened by the ruddy glow of the campfire, "you can't! It's just a poor, innocent bunny!" She gripped his arm with all the strength her cold-numbed fingers could provide.

Tamahome huffed, his breath visible as a foggy cloud despite the warmth of the fire, as he took up the already-dead rabbit from the ground at his feet. "If  **someone** ," he raised his head and fixed her with a look of irritation, "hadn't eaten all the food Tomoru gave us, we wouldn't have to catch our own dinner in the first place." Taking a small knife from his belt, he made a few quick cuts around the animal's legs and across its belly and began rolling the pelt off the carcass. After removing the fur, he began gutting the animal.

She put her hands over her nose to block the coppery smell of blood. "But, it's so cruel!" Wrenching her eyes from the rabbit, Miaka looked desperately at Nuriko. "Nuriko! Do something! Stop this!"

Nuriko sighed from his place across the campfire from her. "Miaka, they're already dead. And besides, you were the one complaining about being hungry the entire ride from the village." He handed Mitsukake the short pine branch he'd been carving into a sharp point and brushed the shavings off his lap.

Next to him, Mitsukake reached out and took the newly skinned-and-gutted rabbit from Tamahome. Running the sharpened stake through its body from head to tail with an experienced hand, he planted the spitted animal between two others just outside the reach of the flames.

"Mitsukake, what are you doing?! Don't help him!" Miaka cried.

Tasuki snorted, grabbing his knife back from Nuriko and jamming it into the small sheath inside the shaft of his boot. He shifted in his place on the log with Mitsukake to lean forward, elbows on his coat-clad knees. The fire popped and crackled, throwing up periodic, pine-scented sparks. " **You**  ate all th' food b'fore we even got two li outta th' village, yah moron!" Firelight flickered over his face, the shifting pattern of light and shadow giving his expression a menacing quality. " **Three days**  worth o' food, fer  **seven**   **fuckin' people** , an' we only left this mornin'!" He glanced to Miaka's right, where Chichiri sat poring over Chiriko's hand-drawn map with the young scholar _._  With a snarl, Tasuki tore his eyes away and clenched both hands into tight fists.

Both Nuriko and Mitsukake followed Tasuki's line of sight to Chichiri before glancing back at the redhead for a moment. Each silently raised an eyebrow.

Letting go of Tamahome's arm, Miaka looked around the loose circle of her Warriors. "Doesn't anyone care about this?! Chichiri?!"

"I'm sorry, Miaka no da," Chichiri said, looking up from the map. "I have to agree with Tamahome, no da. We're still two days out from Touran and according to Tomoru, there aren't any villages between here and the capital, na no da." His gaze turned to Tasuki for a brief moment, then back to the map.

"I understand how you feel, Miaka," Chiriko spoke up, giving her a sympathetic smile. "On an emotional level, I don't like the idea of having to kill small animals, but logically, it has to be done. We just don't have any other options right now."

Wiping his knife off on the moss clinging to the log he sat upon, Tamahome placed it back in its sheath. He got up and took the pelt, viscera, and other castoffs from the rabbit away from the campfire and a short way into the surrounding woods. Upon his return, Tamahome rummaged through the tan canvas pack Miaka had brought with her from Eiyou, and took out a scrap of cloth to wipe his hands on. Stuffing the material into his navy-hued robe, he plopped back down on the log and wrapped his arm around Miaka's slim shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. "We're not going to just eat it right off the skeleton, silly. Once it's cooked and off the bone, you'll never know."

Miaka scowled and tried to push him away. "Of course I'll know, Tamahome! I can see it right there!"

With a sigh, Nuriko stood and dusted off the back of his black felt robe. "Why don't we get things set for the night? We have another two days of riding ahead of us, so let's get everything ready for tomorrow, shall we?" He looked over his shoulder into the nearly pitch-black wall of night just outside the fire's glow. "I'm sure the horses need a little attention, too. Wouldn't you say,  **Tasuki**?" Fixing Tasuki with a sharp stare, he motioned with both hands toward the darkness and the makeshift picket on the other side of the tiny clearing in which the group camped.

Tasuki raised an eyebrow and frowned. "What're yah talkin' ab–" he managed before Nuriko ducked behind Mitsukake and seized him by the arm, nearly dragging him off the log. Just before he hauled the protesting redhead away from the camp, Nuriko picked up a burning branch from the edge of the fire to use as a torch.

Mitsukake watched the two younger seishi go, the crunch and crack of twigs and leaves in their wake lingering long after they were out of earshot. His brow furrowed as he turned back to the rest of the group. He didn't know what Nuriko had to speak to Tasuki about, but he was certain the man knew at least something of the situation between Tasuki and Chichiri. He wouldn't have drug him away if he didn't. Perhaps Nuriko's wasn't the most subtle approach, but Mitsukake wasn't going to waste this opportunity to speak privately to Chiriko. "Nuriko is right. Dinner will take some time yet." He pushed himself to his feet. "Chiriko, would you mind helping me set out the bedding?"

"Oh, yes, of course." Chiriko looked to Chichiri. "Would you mind rerolling the map for me, Chichiri?" he asked and stood, dusting off the back of his robe.

Chichiri seemed to pull himself out of a daze at Chiriko's words. He shook his head before looking at him. "Certainly, no da."

\- o - o - o -

Mitsukake shook the deep ochre wool, removing the wrinkles from it with a sharp snap. The movement disturbed Tama-neko, who had just lain down to sleep. The cat mewed and paced around on the healer's shoulder before laying back down. Mitsukake placed the bedroll a few paces back from the fire on a bed of dried pine needles. Next to him, Chiriko attempted to shake out a bedroll himself. Mitsukake smiled as Chiriko tried but failed to snap it as he had. The long felt blanket flopped about like a fish out of water with each attempt. "It would be easier for you if you lay it on the ground and smooth it out by hand," Mitsukake suggested. He took up another of the woolen bedrolls. Chiriko sighed, a cloud of warm breath dispersing into the cold night. He nodded and dragged the material across the ground to a spot near where Mitsukake had placed the first one.

Glancing around the camp, Mitsukake made mental notes of the other seishis' and Miaka's whereabouts. Nuriko and Tasuki were still across the clearing attending the horses. He could hear periodic nickering and huffing, punctuated by the trembling hoots of owls echoing through the trees.  _They won't be back for a while yet,_  he thought. Miaka and Tamahome had walked over to join Chichiri in scrutinizing the map. Chichiri sat on the log he'd occupied since they'd made camp while Miaka and Tamahome peered over each of the monk's shoulders. Mitsukake watched Miaka reach down and point at something on the paper scroll before she frowned.  _They seem occupied enough._  "Chiriko," he whispered, his baritone voice a quiet rumble.

"Yes, Mitsukake?" Chiriko looked up from where he sat on his knees spreading out a mossy green bedroll.

"Have you noticed the tension between Tasuki and Chichiri these past few days?" Mitsukake snapped another thick felt blanket. "I think they had a fight."

Chiriko nodded, the pine needles under the wool crunching as he leaned back on his heels. He tucked his cold hands into the salmon-colored sleeves of his felt robe. "Yes, I have. Neither of them seems to want to be around the other." Glancing over at Chichiri, he shook his head. "Whatever has happened between them isn't recent, though. I didn't know the cause at the time, but I did notice some tension between them before we left Eiyou. Didn't you?"

Mitsukake hummed in agreement. He had begun to notice a slight difference in how Chichiri seemed to act around Tasuki, especially as they sailed to Hokkan. At the time, he wondered if Chichiri was just becoming more comfortable around the other celestial warriors. It made sense; he himself was shy and taciturn around most people, so he could relate. Yet, Chichiri's current near-silence and deliberate avoidance of Tasuki told Mitsukake that wasn't the case. But, would Chichiri even acknowledge the problem if he asked him outright?  _Probably not,_  he thought.  _And Tasuki..._

Tasuki seemed almost recklessly angry. The spot where the redhead had barreled into him the night before twinged as Mitsukake thought about that look of poisonous rage on Tasuki's face. Bottling up anger of that magnitude could only harm Tasuki, emotionally and physically. Miaka couldn't afford any of her Warriors becoming ill or unable to protect her, not at such a critical time. Placing the bedroll down, Mitsukake spoke. "We must do something, Chiriko. This argument may hinder our progress in finding the Shinzahou."

"I agree, Mitsukake. But what do you have in mind?"

"It's likely that once we reach Touran, we will split into small groups to search for information. We should try to pair ourselves with one or the other of them."

"And while we search, we should try to coax them into dealing with the matter," Chiriko finished, speaking more to himself than Mitsukake. The scholar nodded, slowly at first, then faster as he turned the idea over in his mind. He couldn't agree more that this situation could put their mission in jeopardy. Both Tasuki and Chichiri looked distracted, as if their bodies were present and attending to the matters at hand but their minds were somewhere else entirely. "Yes," Chiriko said finally, looking up at Mitsukake. "Yes, I think this plan could work."

\- o - o - o -

Nuriko frowned as he followed Tasuki across the dark, pine needle-strewn clearing to where the five riding horses and one pack horse Tomoru and his tribe had given them were picketed. The compact animals stood calmly in a rough line, a few of them asleep on their feet. Stopping back a few paces from the picket, he watched Tasuki check the horses' lead ropes and halters in silence. The torchlight flickered across Tasuki's back, illuminating the peaks of the creases and folds in his leather coat and the hard edges of his tessen. "You haven't said more than two words to anyone since we left the village this morning," Nuriko said finally, "and now you're snapping at Miaka. What is going on with you?"

"I don't wanna fuckin' talk about it." Tasuki didn't turn around as he bent to test the knots tying one end of the hemp picket line to a broad-trunked pine tree.

"Oh, get over yourself." Nuriko snorted, a white puff of breath escaping his nose with the sound. He crossed his arms as best he could while holding the torch. "What happened between you and Chichiri last night?" His gaze followed Tasuki as he moved to where the group had stored the horses' tack. Tasuki rummaged around the stack of wooden saddles, the felted horsehair saddle pads having been borrowed to supplement the bedrolls.

Tasuki scowled at the mention of the monk's name. Something in his chest tightened as Chichiri's words the previous night rang once more in his mind:  _"I don't love you, Tasuki! I have **never**  loved you! I  **will never**  love you!" "After we retrieve the Shinzahou and summon Suzaku, our duty will be done and I will be gone. We won't see each other again." _What did Nuriko want him to say? That he'd spilled his guts to Chichiri and what he'd gotten in return was anger, lies, and rejection? That he'd managed to fuck it up after all?

Frustration building, Nuriko grabbed Tasuki's upper arm and spun him around to face him, only just barely keeping his divine strength in check. "You told me yesterday morning that you and Chichiri nearly slept together on the boat before we got here and now you two are avoiding each other like the plague. What happened?"

"Lemme go, Nuriko.  **Now** ," Tasuki growled, baring his fangs. Tendrils of warm breath escaped his mouth like puffs of ivory smoke as he tried to pull his arm free of Nuriko's painful grip.

Tasuki's refusal to talk didn't seem too different from his behavior during their conversation on the night of the Qi Xi festival. Yet, something about his demeanor this time made Nuriko suspicious. "Tell me what's going on, Tasuki, or I swear–"

A bitter bark of a laugh cut him off. "Yah 'swear' what? That yah'll tell 'im?" Tasuki spat, a sardonic smile on his lips. "What were yah thinkin' would happen after that, huh?" With one last jerk, his arm came free from Nuriko's grasp and with a shake of his head, he ran his hands through his hair. "I did everythin' yah said. Every fuckin' thing." He shifted in his spot, his boots crunching on the dry pine needles under his feet. "But, it don't matter anymore."

Tasuki's words took Nuriko aback. "'Doesn't matter?' What are you talking about?" he asked, brows furrowed. "Wait..." He blinked once before his eyebrows shot toward his hairline. "What does that mean? What happ–"

"Hey, Tasuki! Nuriko! Dinner's ready!" Both warriors turned toward the campfire as Tamahome's voice rang through the clearing. "You'd better get over here before Miaka eats– Oof!" The shifting flames silhouetted Miaka where she sat on the log she and Tamahome shared as she wound up and planted an elbow in the fighter's ribs.

Nuriko turned hastily back to Tasuki, eyes wide. "Red, what–"

Tasuki made one last check of the horses, patting one on the neck before starting back toward the rest of the group. "Don't worry 'bout it," he said, shrugging off Nuriko's inquiry. "Just ferget I said anythin'." The shifting light of the torch highlighted his scowl before he passed out the glow and his face was swallowed by the darkness. "We've gotta Shinzahou t' find, right?"

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri shivered at the wind's cold bite, frowning as steely gray clouds overtook the last rays of daylight. They blotted out the weak sun that had followed the group all the way from the border. Drawing his heavy felt robe tighter around him, he urged his mount a bit faster toward the shelter of the waiting city.

Ahead of them lay the fortified capital of Hokkan, Touran. Its lights glittered like gems against the snow-capped mountains surrounding it. It had been three days now since they had set out upon the route Tomoru had given them, first traveling west through the foothills to pick up a disused trade road about a hundred li from the village. Following it and the map Chiriko had made from the old man's information, the warriors had had little trouble except with the harshness of the terrain. The horses labored over the deeply rutted, rocky trail as the land became steeper and more jagged the nearer they drew to the mountain ranges in the center of the country.

As they crested the final wooded bluff before the steep descent into the valley where Touran sprawled, Chichiri chanced a glance at Tasuki. He rode next to Miaka and Tamahome half a li ahead of the remaining warriors. Tasuki's anger had seemed to dissipate as their journey had gone on, getting to the point that he had returned to bantering back and forth with both Nuriko and Miaka and even joking with Tamahome around the campfire at night. Yet, Chichiri knew that it wasn't that simple. Tasuki's words from that night echoed through his mind:  _"I think I'm in love with yah, Chiri." "I just want_ _ **you**_ _!"_  He shook his head. Even if Tasuki did love him, he couldn't return that love. Duty to his priestess, his country, and his god was too important.

Mitsukake and Chiriko rode in silence next to Chichiri, each granting him occasional troubled looks. Both men knew whatever argument had occurred between Tasuki and Chichiri was eating at the monk. Chichiri's distracted glances and stubborn determination to avoid Tasuki for the past three days only proved the severity of it.

"Come, Chichiri. Miaka and Tamahome have reached the city gates. We should hurry if we don't want to be left behind," Mitsukake said, urging his horse on to catch the rest of the group.

\- o - o - o -

Massaging his cold hands, Chichiri took in their surroundings. Towering stone walls jutted from the frigid ground. The group reined in their mounts just before the main gates of the city, both the horses' and the riders' breath forming as frosty clouds of mist with the dropping temperature. The leaden sky closed in, pushing down on the seishi like a great gray blanket. The chill wind burned Chichiri's nose as he breathed. To his left, Nuriko craned his head back to watch a lone sentry pace the battlements high above.

"Wow, the walls around the city are even thicker than the ones around the palace in Kounan," he said, dropping his gaze back to street level. Nuriko gave Chichiri a smile and a quick dip of his head before urging his horse onward.

Tamahome led the band under the soaring gate and into the wide thoroughfare that served as the central marketplace. His dark navy hair rippled in the cool wind as he swayed back and forth with each step of his steed. "So, this is Touran," he said as he looked around. The buildings were shorter and thicker than in Kounan and the stonework much more simple and utilitarian as well.

Nestled against his back, Miaka sat bound up in her thick robe. The matching coral hat atop her head tipped back and forth as she gawked. Shops and stalls lined the streets and alleyways radiating from the entrance to the city. Spice stalls overflowed with the scents of nutty cardamom, grassy cilantro, and woody cinnamon, while the food stalls brimmed with the tang of smoked horse meat and the sharp scent of caraway in the mutton budaatai khuurga. The sizzle of frying yak khuushuur dumplings and the bubble of boiling goat-meat-and-vegetable khorkhog underscored the excited cries of merchants and peddlers hawking their wares. Felt-robe-bound shoppers moved in dense throngs through the market under the threatening sky.

"Yeah. We finally made it 'ere," Tasuki commented, keeping his attention focused away from the group and away from the quiet monk just a scant pace behind him. He couldn't bring himself to look at Chichiri without the anger or the deep ache in his chest that now accompanied it. He knew Chichiri shared his feelings and his desire, no matter how much he tried to deny it.  _An' that kiss..._  Even now he could feel the electric tingle, the delicious throb as he crushed their lips together and he ran a finger over them. He remembered the sensuous moan that had slipped from Chichiri's throat.  _T_ _hen 'e acts like nothin' fuckin' happened_ , he thought bitterly.

Nuriko had demanded repeatedly after that first night at camp that he tell him about what had happened with Chichiri, but he'd refused to give an answer. He didn't need Nuriko going on about how he'd screwed everything up and how Miaka wouldn't be able to summon Suzaku because of him. He'd had his fill of hearing about duty and Suzaku from Chichiri. With a frown, he shoved the thought aside in deference to the conversation continuing behind him.

"It's cold here," Chiriko said, shivering as he rubbed his hands together. He drew farther into his felt robe, hugging Mitsukake's back a bit tighter.

A gentle smile crept onto Mitsukake's face.

Miaka smiled as well. A large snowflake landed on her nose, diverting her gaze. "It's snowing!" she exclaimed, holding out a hand to catch another.

The rest of the seishi also reached to claim their own flakes. Chichiri shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He cast a troubled glance at the fluffy snow lighting on Tasuki's hair before turning his attention to the whitening ground.

Nuriko studied a rapidly melting snowflake in his hand. Wiping the wet remnants on his heavy robe, he too smiled at the joy in Miaka's words. "Wow, you almost never see snow back home in Kounan," he replied, glancing up. "The weather is too nice there."

Tamahome nodded in agreement, turning his gaze to the sky as the downy white snow began to coat the dark robe cloaking his knees.

"It's been so long!" Miaka sighed, resting her head against Tamahome's shoulder. "Back home, where I come from, it sometimes snows a lot during the winter months." She sighed again, eyes drifting closed as she snuggled closer.

The conversation soon slacked off to silence. The horses snorted and pawed at the ground as snow began to pile up around their hooves and frigid rivulets ran down their sides and legs. At last, Tasuki chanced turning to the group. Melting snow plastered his hair to the sides of his face. "We should prob'ly get ourselves a room er somethin'. If we stay out here any longer, we're gonna freeze an' th' horses don't look so hot either." He turned his gaze to Chichiri. Tasuki's eyes locked on his downcast face for a long moment.  _I love yah, yah bastard._ Mouth set in a grim line, he dismounted, never taking his eyes from Chichiri.  _Why?_ He let his gaze drop to the snow-laden ground, frosty breath belying a soft growl.  _Why won'tcha let me?_ Sliding his cold fingers into his mount's leather bridle, Tasuki gently pulled its head around and stalked off toward a stable just a few paces from the gatehouse, his felt robe fluttering in the breeze.

"He has a point." Nuriko slipped from his saddle to the snowy ground. He pushed his long braid back over his shoulder as he waited for Miaka and Tamahome to dismount. Casting a glance after Tasuki, he raised an eyebrow.  _What is it you aren't telling me?_ he thought. He shifted his gaze briefly to Chichiri.  _And_ _ **why**_ _aren't you telling me?_  After a moment, Miaka patted him on the arm and the threesome, horses in tow, trailed after Tasuki to the stable.

As Tasuki disappeared into the dark interior, Mitsukake looked back over his shoulder at Chiriko. Both men's brows furrowed. They had seen and felt the tension brewing in Tasuki's stare as it bored into Chichiri's face even if the monk had not. They turned to look at Chichiri and were surprised to see him dismount as well. Gaze absorbed in his task, Chichiri swept the fallen snow off of his horse's mane and neck. Mitsukake exchanged one more look with Chiriko before patting him on the knee in silent signal to dismount.

\- o - o - o -

Inami's Garden lay tucked into an alley a few steps from the stables behind a thick bronze-clad wooden door. Inside, the tavern's pale green walls and stone floors were well-lit by several bronze lamps hanging from the coffered wood-beam ceiling. Near the back of the establishment, smoke and the smell of grilling meats wafted over the half-wall separating the kitchen from the dining room. Just to the left of the food-crowded pass-through, a simple wooden staircase led upward to what was most likely a handful of guest rooms.

Leaving Tamahome in charge of securing a meal, Tasuki and Nuriko led the others through the crowded common room. Serving women hefted large lacquered platters laden with steaming foods and beverages as they made their way between the close-set tables. The clink of copper chopsticks on bronze dishes and the thump of heavy metal cups on wooden tabletops mingled with the cheerful hum of conversation. Drunken patrons roared with laughter at the antics of their equally drunk friends, their eyes watery and their brown faces tinged with red. Dodging loose elbows and sidestepping milling patrons, the Shichiseishi made their way to a small, rectangular table in the center.

A middle-aged, brown-skinned woman in a green robe with a high embroidered collar approached before any of the celestial warriors could take a seat and silently began a slow circuit of the table. Taking bowls of tsuivan and plates of khuushuur from her platter, she placed them around the tabletop along with pairs of chopsticks and simple linen towels.

"Yah know," Tasuki rumbled as he dropped onto a wooden bench across the table from Nuriko, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I think Tama should pay fer our food. Miaka's 'is whirlwind after all." He grinned at Nuriko's stifled laugh, fangs peeking from the corners of his mouth.

Chichiri nodded his thanks as the serving woman placed a small bronze drinking bowl on the table in front of him before filling it with suutei tsai from a bronze tea pot. A tendril of steam rose from the surface of the salty, milky tea only to disappear a hand's breadth above the cup. Chichiri took a seat next to Nuriko, making certain to keep Mitsukake and Chiriko between Tasuki and himself. His brows furrowed. The amused smirk on Tasuki's face as the redhead took a heavy bronze cup of what looked to be some sort of liquor from the woman and thanked her seemed out of place, almost as if their argument had never happened. Tasuki couldn't have really decided to back off, could he? Chichiri looked away just as Tasuki caught his stare. He turned his attention to untying the silk cord fastening the map he'd taken from inside his robe.

"What was that?!" Tamahome demanded. He slapped the still-chuckling Tasuki on the back of the head. Taking a seat between Tasuki and Miaka, he smiled in triumph as Tasuki frowned and rubbed at the stinging spot. "Well, then," Tamahome said upon seeing Chichiri unrolling the map of Touran, "where do we go from here?"

Chichiri stood, pushing the crisp edges of the paper as flat as he could. He finally motioned for Mitsukake and then Chiriko to hold the corners of the map so it didn't reroll itself. "Right now," Chichiri said, pointing to their location among the myriad ink lines and place names, "we're at the city gates, no da. We should split up and search for clues about the Shinzahou, na no da." He felt the eyes of the group on him, watching, waiting for his expert opinion. He could not, would not pair up with Tasuki after what had occurred between them. The tension Chichiri felt even sitting at the same table with him made him uncomfortable. Never taking his eyes from the map, he made his choices. "Since Chiriko is just a kid, I'll team up with him, no da."

"My pleasure."

Mitsukake and Chiriko glanced at each other, exchanging a subtle nod. Chiriko mulled Mitsukake's plan over again in his mind as he nibbled on one of the yak dumplings. If they could get to the bottom of this rift between Tasuki and Chichiri, perhaps they could find a way for the two to reconcile. The harmony and morale of the group and of their priestess was paramount.

"And since Tasuki's such a hot-head, the even-tempered Mitsukake should go with him, na no da."

Tasuki's head jerked up, eyes widening only to narrow to slits. "What's  **that**  s'pose'ta mean?" he shot back, fangs bared.  _Bastard_ , he thought, his grip tightening on his bronze cup until his knuckles showed white against the tan of his hand. Yet, beneath the outward ire, Chichiri's words wounded him more than he wanted to admit. Hot-headed: was that what Chichiri thought of him and his feelings? Chichiri had gone out of his way to avoid sitting, sleeping, or riding anywhere near him during the journey from Tomoru's village to Touran. Now, he was throwing out snide comments and wouldn't even look him in the eye. He loved the monk, he truly did. Why couldn't Chichiri just love him back? Growling deep in his throat as Chiriko placed a hand on his arm, Tasuki let the challenge drop.

"And naturally I should go with Miaka." Tamahome smiled at her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Miaka looked pointedly at Chichiri and then to her right at Nuriko. She paused, chopsticks halfway to her mouth, and frowned. "What about Nuriko?"

"Hmm." Nuriko placed his teacup down on the wooden table and pondered the idea. He cocked his head, his long braid slipping from his shoulder to dangle nearly to the floor behind him. "I'd prefer to go with Miaka and Tamahome," he said finally, clasping a braceleted fist to his chest. "As steward of His Majesty, Hotohori, I have to protect you in his place." He smiled. Nuriko had always known that no matter how close he and Miaka had become over the months since her arrival in Kounan, he would never hold the same place in her heart as Tamahome or Hotohori. He could only do his duty as a celestial warrior and protect her on her mission. Hoping to find some sympathy, he glanced over at Tasuki only to be greeted with a raised eyebrow. Following Tasuki's line of sight, he turned around and into a grimy green robe.

"Hey, baby."

Nuriko blanched and reeled back as fast as he could away from the owner of the voice. A thick cloud of long-spoiled alcohol and stale sweat enveloped him as the man grabbed his chin with a grubby brown hand and turned his face this way and that. Nuriko grimaced, his brows drawn in disgust. A deep reddish flush underlaid the man's unshaven features and the lecherous grin that spread across his chapped lips.

"Oh yeah, you're a pretty one. How's about you share a drink with me?"

Nuriko growled and grabbed the man's wrist in a crushing grip before jumping up and punching him squarely in the jaw. "Sorry, buddy," he said as the unconscious drunk's body sailed over the heads of several serving women and passing patrons to land with a crash several paces away, "I'm not that kind of girl." The man lay sprawled like so many sacks of grain tossed from a passing wagon in the wreckage of one of the wooden dining tables. His friends cackled and hooted at the spectacle. Cracking his knuckles, Nuriko dusted himself off with an exaggerated flourish and returned to his seat. He tossed his braid over his shoulder once more.

"Hey, baby," Tasuki drawled with a smirk, hoping to tease Nuriko about the unwanted attention. Yet, he found himself looking at Chichiri, anxious for some reaction to his words.  _Come on. Say somethin', dammit_ , he thought. His quick glance became a long, smoldering stare. When it became obvious Chichiri wouldn't react, Tasuki chugged the arkhi from his cup and welcomed the slightly fizzy, alcoholic fire that ran through him. Still, the milk liquor only did so much to dull the edge of his anger and sadness. "Maybe it's not such a great idea fer yah t' pair up with Miaka. Looks like there's plenty o' yokels 'round this joint." He returned his attention to Nuriko, gesturing in a wide arc to include the whole of the tavern.

"No kidding," Tamahome put in as he glanced around at the whistling and cat-calling crowd. "If the sight of two girls together here causes this much excitement, we're never going to get anywhere without a bunch of hassles along the way."

Nuriko sniffed and crossed his arms over his thin chest. "Yeah, yeah. I get it," he grumbled. "The problem is I look like a girl." Looking around, he saw a young man get up from the table behind where the Shichiseishi sat and start toward the tavern's door. "Hey, you. Give me your knife," Nuriko said and, without waiting for an answer, grabbed it off the man's belt. Smiling to himself in triumph, he pulled the dagger from its sheath, its silver blade glinting in the yellow lamplight. He heard the entire table gasp as he reached a delicate hand behind his head and, grasping the warm bundle of purple hair, sliced it from his head.

A shocked silence descended over the group.

"What a waste," Tamahome whispered and shook his head.

"Nuriko!" Miaka dropped her chopsticks with a metallic clatter against the wooden table. Eyes wide, she grasped Nuriko's arm. "Are you sure about this?" She stared for a moment at the coil of braided hair, consternation engraved on her face. "You'll give up looking like a girl?"

Tossing the knife back to its owner, Nuriko chuckled and patted Miaka's hand. "It's alright, it's done. I don't feel the need to do the cross-dressing act any longer." A wistful smile touched Nuriko's lips for a brief moment before he glanced around the table at the rest of the Warriors. Balling one hand into a fist, he pounded it into his palm. "Besides, I can't have this mane of hair flapping all over the place while I'm trying to fight the Seiryuu Seven, can I?"

"Yeah, the Seiryuu Seven. That's right." With a frown, Tamahome wrenched his eyes from the severed braid. "They may attack us when we least expect them to."

Chichiri shook his head as he too looked away from the lock of hair. That braid embodied years of work and dedication toward Nuriko's dream of becoming empress. Yet, he now seemed at peace with leaving that dream behind to start anew. Chichiri's brows furrowed as he considered his own life. His thoughts turned to the redhead staring at that same lock. Drawing a breath, he pushed the thought away and looked up at the rest of the group. "Exactly, no da. The biggest problem is finding a way to keep in touch with each other while we're split up looking for the Shinzahou, no da. But if I use any of my magic, the enemy will be able to find us, na no da."

"Yeah. That's tricky," Tasuki muttered. His gaze fixed on the amethyst plait where it curled loosely around itself on the tabletop. With that one cut, not only was Nuriko sacrificing his identity for his duty to Suzaku and Kounan, but the courtier was essentially giving up on what Tasuki thought Nuriko had wanted: Hotohori. It didn't make any sense. How did duty as a Star of Suzaku have any impact on whether Nuriko and Hotohori or even Chichiri and himself could be together or not?

Tasuki knew duty. As a recruit under Hakurou and as the leader of the Mount Reikaku bandits, he'd had responsibilities and obligations aplenty: to protect the mountain and his fellows, to collect tolls from travelers while upholding the bandit code, even to properly worship the god of the mountain. He'd done all of those things without fail and never once was anything about love being off-limits mentioned. Chichiri's words from that night replayed again in Tasuki's head:  _"We have a sacred duty to Miaka, as the priestess, and to the people of Kounan to summon Suzaku and I will not jeopardize that to appease your libido!" "After we retrieve the Shinzahou and summon Suzaku, our duty will be done and I will be gone. We won't see each other again."_ How many more times would someone hold up "duty" as an excuse? Turning his gaze to Chichiri, he scowled.

"Perhaps I have a solution." Chiriko's voice broke through the contemplative silence that had descended over the group. All eyes focused on him.

"What's your idea, Chiriko?" Miaka asked.

"It's these!" He dropped three small tubes upon the table, hollow bamboo stalks stuffed and sealed, each trailed by a short silk cord. Chiriko smiled in triumph as he folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe. Not only had he managed to find an alchemist in Hotohori's court who was willing to make the volatile recipe, but he'd retrieved them from the boat and tucked them away in his robes just before his character had faded again.

Tamahome scratched his head. "Fireworks?"

"They're signal flares." A chorus of acknowledgment worked its way around the table as understanding spread across each face. "If you find out anything about the Shinzahou, just light one of these to let the rest of us know. They can be seen from anywhere within the city boundaries."

Tamahome, Miaka, and Nuriko stood and took one of the flares for their group. "These will really come in handy," Nuriko said as he pushed it into the belt holding his robe closed. "Thanks, Chiriko." To his left, Miaka nodded as she hoisted her pack onto a slim shoulder. She pouted for a moment as Tamahome pushed her coral hat down over her eyes, then faced the rest of the seishi.

"Alright everyone, let's get going and remember to use your flares if you find anything. Most of all, be careful," she said before starting through the crowd for the tavern's door, Tamahome trailing behind.

Mitsukake nodded and patted Chiriko gently on the shoulder in thanks. He took a flare from the two remaining as he stood. Next to him, Chichiri rolled up the map of Touran and tied it shut.

"I'll see to the horses, Chiriko, no da," Chichiri said simply as he stood. He tucked the map into an interior pocket in his robe. Never looking back at the table, he slipped around a serving woman with a laden tray and moved toward the exit.

"Of course." A frown tugged at the corners of Chiriko's lips. Taking the last flare from the table, he tucked it into the belt holding his teal silk coat closed under his felt robe. He looked up at Mitsukake as the healer put a hand on his shoulder and nodded toward the door. Chiriko sighed and let Mitsukake usher him through the crowd.

Tasuki watched Chichiri go in silence. Gulping down the last of the arkhi in his cup, he pushed himself up off the bench. The tessen jangled at his back with the movement. A hand touched his shoulder and he paused, but didn't turn to look. "Whadda yah want, Nuriko?"

"Tasuki, you and Chichiri can't go on like this." Nuriko removed his hand and crossed his arms over his chest.

Tasuki snorted. "I told'ja t' ferget about it, didn't I?"

"How can I? You've been irritable for days and no matter how many times I ask, you won't tell me anything," Nuriko replied. "Neither you nor Chichiri is talking to the other and if Miaka doesn't know something weird is going on  **now** , she will if you don't get whatever it is under control and  **soon**. Our duty to–"

Tasuki growled, cutting Nuriko off. The sound drew the attention of patrons at nearby tables. "I don't need a fuckin' lecture an' I sure as shit don't need  **you**  tellin'  **me**  'bout 'duty.'" He finally turned toward Nuriko, his eyes narrowed and veiled by his bangs. "Yer tellin' me what  **I**  gotta do, but what're  **you**  doin', huh? Hidin' from Hotohori behind a fuckin' haircut an' some bullshit 'bout fightin' th' Seiryuu Seven."

"What?  **That**  was  **my**  choice and it has nothing to do with  **you** , or  **Hotohori** , or  **anyone** ," Nuriko shot back. He scowled. "You won't tell me what's going on and you're angry at me for I don't even know what. How do you expect me to help you?"

Over Nuriko's shoulder, Tasuki saw Mitsukake pause halfway to the exit and look back at them. Flicking his gaze back to the angry courtier, Tasuki shook his head. "Keep yer help. I've had enough o' it t' last a fuckin' lifetime." He pushed past Nuriko, the hard soles of his boots thudding against the worn stone tile as he headed for the tavern door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 8
> 
> **Budaatai Khuurga** → a thick stew made of meat, usually mutton, rice, and vegetables  
>  **Khuushuur** → pocket-shaped dumplings filled with meat, usually mutton, and deep fried in oil or fat  
>  **Khorkhog** → a meat dish, usually made of lamb or goat and root vegetables, cooked in a closed container with the help of hot stones  
>  **Suutei Tsai** → Mongolian tea made with milk, traditionally from a mare, and salt  
>  **Arkhi** → a light and slightly fizzy alcoholic beverage made from fermented and distilled mare's milk


	9. Beyond the Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shichiseishi split up to find information on the Shinzahou, and then...

A steady, cold wind gusted in Chichiri's face as he and Chiriko rode beyond the city wall to the very outskirts of Touran. The guards at the gate had told them the encampment was six li to the northeast. Their horse snorted and shook the accumulating snow off its head as it trotted down the deserted road. Chichiri shivered as snow found its way into his thick robe. It melted in the soft wool of his kesa and froze his skin beneath. He knew Chiriko, sitting in the saddle in front of him, had to be in much the same predicament.

It had been Chiriko's suggestion that they search the outlying areas. Since many of the Genbu Seven had been tribal clansmen before becoming celestial warriors, perhaps the nomads that camped regularly on the outskirts of the capital might know something the city dwellers didn't. Chichiri had to admit that he wouldn't have thought to look beyond the city's walls. He was still a bit concerned that the rest of the Shichiseishi wouldn't see the signal flare so far from the city, despite Chiriko's insistence that they would.  _Still, maybe_ _he's right,_  he thought.  _P_ _erhaps there is a clue to be found out here, no da_. He just hoped that the information they sought would be easily found. He didn't like having so much time to think, especially when the fight at the yurt village and the image of Tasuki's hurt and angry face battled for dominance at the forefront of his mind. As he rode, replaying that night over and over again, there was a pull at Chichiri's sleeve. It was gentle, almost imperceptible over the bite of the wind and the constant jerking as the horse adjusted to the rutted, snowbound road. When it didn't happen again, Chichiri could almost believe that the sensation was nothing more than his imagination, born of exhaustion and his preoccupation with Tasuki.

Chiriko's brow furrowed, his hair plastered down with half-melted snowflakes. Cold rivulets flowed down the back of his neck into his robe. He shivered as the water soaked into his teal silk coat underneath. If he didn't try to dry his face, especially his nose, lips, and ears, the water could speed the onset of frostbite, especially with the wind blowing as it was. "Chichiri!" He didn't know how long he'd tugged at Chichiri's sleeve to get the monk's attention, though he thought they had managed two li or more before he'd had to resort to shouting. "Please stop! I'm freezing!"

With a firm tug on the reins, Chichiri slowed their mount to a walk. The brows of his mask furrowed as he looked down at the shivering scholar. "I'm sorry, Chiriko, no da," he said. "I guess I got carried away, na no da." He dug in the small pockets lining the inside of his tunic until his fingers felt the miraculously dry edge of a linen handkerchief. He handed it to Chiriko. As the scholar wiped the melted snow from his face and hair, Chichiri silently berated himself for letting this problem with Tasuki get out of hand; Tasuki had managed to seize control of his thoughts and now this fixation truly was causing harm to one of his fellow Warriors. Why had he ever let his desires go so far?

The two men rode on in silence. The horse's hooves crunched into the snow with every step, its swaying gait lulling Chichiri even deeper into his thoughts. A gust of wind blew through the barren trees lining their route, stirring the branches and knocking them together with hollow clacks. Fine showers of flakes swirled up from the wood to add to the steadier snow still falling. A wispy column of gray smoke rose from just past the horizon, only barely visible against the steel gray sky. They still had some way to go before reaching the camp.

Pushing the damp cloth into the sleeve of his robe, Chiriko watched the snowdrifts bound back from the roadside into the treeline, eventually fading into an even blanket covering the forest floor. He sighed to himself at the loneliness of the road and the quiet creak of the trees waving in the wind. He wondered if this was what Chichiri saw and heard in his travels and if this is what he wanted to return to after their duties were done. Chichiri had always struck him as a recluse, someone who felt more at ease by himself than with others.  _Not unlike Mitsukake,_  Chiriko thought. Yet, Chichiri's isolation seemed more self-imposed to him, more purposeful than Mitsukake's inveterate shyness. It was as if Chichiri wanted to distance himself from the other Warriors and Miaka. Chiriko had been the last of the Suzaku Seven to be gathered following the failed summoning, but in that short time he had seen each of the Seven develop strong bonds, with the priestess and with each other. Chichiri was no different. For as much as Chiriko sensed he wanted to stay an outsider, leading from the shadows, Chichiri had grown just as close to the balance of the Shichiseishi as they had to him. Whatever this rift was between him and Tasuki, Chiriko was determined to set it right, not only for their mission to summon Suzaku, but for Chichiri's sake as well. "Chichiri?" He kept his voice low out of respect for the tranquility around them.

"Yes, Chiriko, no da?"

"Did you and Tasuki have a fight? You both seem so sad lately." He heard Chichiri cough once, and felt the monk shift in the saddle behind him as though he were a novice horseman just learning to ride. Chiriko looked up after a pause that seemed to him to be much too long to find Chichiri staring at the desolate, snowbound lane ahead. The brows on his mask were furrowed and his ever-present smile was curved into a small frown. "Chichiri? What's wrong?" He had never seen the man look so obviously bothered before. "Did something happen?"

"No, no, it's nothing, Chiriko, no da," Chichiri said finally.  _It was the right choice,_ he thought. Pushing Tasuki away at the yurt village was the best course of action he could have taken to salvage things. They still had a duty to fulfill and he wouldn't let his inability to control himself become a liability to their mission. Yet, the look of utter rage on Tasuki's face and the subsequent pain in his eyes wouldn't leave his head.  _It was the right choice,_ he repeated to himself. Glancing down at Chiriko, he forced a smile and returned to the higher pitch he normally used. "It's just this journey is taking a lot out of everyone, no da. Finding the Shinzahou is of the utmost importance and we're all trying to do our best, na no da. "

Silence descended on them once more, the stillness broken only by the occasional snort of their mount and the rattle of branches in the deep woods along the road. Chiriko again sat looking out at the empty woods, brows drawn in frustration. Delving into the sleeve of his robe with freezing fingers, he found the still-damp handkerchief. He played with the warm, moist corner of the linen. His lips twisted in an exasperated smirk as he contemplated his next move.  _I don't know what to do, Mitsukake_ , he thought. He wondered if Mitsukake was having any more luck with Tasuki than he was with Chichiri.  _He doesn't seem to want my help at all. How am I supposed to fix this if he won't cooperate?_  "Chichiri, please," he sighed, "tell me what happened."

"It's nothing–"

"You're wrong! It  **is**  something, Chichiri," Chiriko declared, cutting him off in mid-sentence. Turning as best he could to look at Chichiri's face, Chiriko placed a concerned hand over the monk's cold, larger one. He noted how the knuckles under his palm flexed as if tightening around the leather reins. "You're my friend and I care about you, Chichiri." He hoped he finally had Chichiri's undivided attention. "I know that whatever happened between you two is bothering you greatly. You don't seem yourself, and you haven't seemed yourself since we left the Kounan border. Please, for yourself as well as the rest of us who care about you, tell me what's wrong. I want to help you." As the last of his words floated away, he watched the cold wind toss Chichiri's soaked bangs against the side of his face, sticking the wet strands fast.

Another long and deafening silence imposed itself on the two warriors. Chiriko was quickly losing patience with the situation. He turned again to look at the snowy road ahead. What more could he do to convince Chichiri to open up to him? He'd already told the monk as plainly as he knew how that he didn't have to cut himself off from friends who cared about him and his welfare. Chiriko could barely remember the last time he'd seen a grown man, a logical, rational grown man, act in such a manner.

Many years before Chiriko had known of his calling as one of the Shichiseishi, his elder brother, Gishou, a man Chiriko respected for his wisdom and kind heart, met a woman in the city marketplace of unimaginable beauty. He wooed her with gifts and spent his time with her deep in discussion and trading words of love. One day, several months after their first meeting, the young woman announced that she was to be married and that she couldn't see his brother anymore. For weeks afterward, Gishou sat in his chamber and stared at the jeweled comb he'd bought for her, barely speaking or eating. All of it for the love of a woman he had lost.

Gishou had tried to give the public appearance that nothing was amiss, but Chiriko could tell he was still hurting. He'd stare sometimes into the distance when he thought no one was looking. He even went to the trouble of avoiding the specific stall in the market where he'd met the woman who'd broken his heart. Eventually, their mother had arranged a match with another woman, Ryokuu, from a prominent local family, but it wasn't the same. Even years later, Gishou still wasn't as talkative and open as he had once been.

Chiriko blinked, his eyes widening as his gaze jerked up to Chichiri's impassive face. Could he? "You're in love with him, aren't you," he said. It was more of a statement than a question and his suspicions were confirmed as Chichiri let out a pent-up sigh. A great cloud of white mist rose into the sky to mingle with the snowflakes.

"Yes, no da."

"I see," Chiriko said, nodding slowly. As one of the four gods, Suzaku ruled over many elements: fire, the south, summer, and of course, love. It made sense that Suzaku's Warriors might end up falling for each other; Tamahome seemed to be in love with Miaka after all. He was honestly more surprised that Chichiri had admitted it than anything else. Still, the monk's discomfort when he'd mentioned Tasuki's name confused him. "I'm happy for you, Chichiri, but aren't you glad about it?"

"Glad about it, no da?"

Chiriko frowned, his brow furrowing at the almost distressed tone in Chichiri's voice. The monk kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead, his face set into his usual smile. Wasn't falling in love generally considered to be a good thing? Chiriko knew from his brother's example that love didn't always work out between two people. Still, did not Laozi say that "being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage?" Shouldn't Chichiri be happy? Unless... "Did Tasuki share your feelings?"

There was no reply and silence fell once more. Ahead, the tops of the nomads' greyish-white yurts finally began to rise up from the surrounding snow cover, the smoke they'd seen earlier thicker and more visible the closer they rode. The crunch of footfalls on the forest floor to the side of the road rose out of the snowy stillness, followed by the scent of thick musk and coppery blood.

"Hail, travelers," called a deep, jovial voice.

Shaking its head, their mount shied and sidestepped as its ears swiveled this way and that. Chichiri pulled on the reins in an attempt to get the horse back under control. Both seishi looked into the trees to see a party of six men, each wrapped in thick felt robes with high collars. Across each man's back was strapped a simple leather quiver full of arrows fletched with smoky blue crane feathers. In each hand, they carried wicked-looking recurve bows. Two of them carried a thick tree limb, stripped of its bark and leaves, between them from which a large elk had been slung. A trickle of blood seeped from what looked to be an arrow wound on the side of the animal's chest. Finally able to get the spooked horse to calm down, Chichiri reined it to a stop. It snorted, a great blast of frigid breath rising from its nostrils, as it pawed the snowy ground.

A stocky, middle-aged man with a dark beard nodded to them as the group made their way up to the two warriors before coming to a stop. The embroidery on the man's dark blue felt robe and hat was much more intricate than that of any of his fellows. "What brings you out of Touran in this weather?" he asked, his voice the same as had greeted them just a moment before. "From the look of things," he glanced up into the curtain of falling snow at the steely clouds, "the snows will continue through the night."

Chichiri nodded back. "We were on our way to the encampment just over the rise, no da." Both he and Chiriko swayed as the horse adjusted its footing once more. "We were hoping to speak with the elder, na no da."

The bearded man threw his head back and laughed, a fog of breath escaping into the cold air. The snow that had accumulated on top of the man's hat slipped off as he did so and was carried away with the breeze. "You've found him, my friends!" Waving to the rest of the hunters, he motioned for them to head on. They trudged past through the snowdrifts to a tumult of arrows clattering in quivers, the crack of fallen pine branches under their feet, and the steady swish of the hanging elk's back brushing the snow. "Come, come," he said, motioning for Chichiri and Chiriko to follow him. "You must be eager for a warm fire."

A small frown made its way to Chiriko's lips. He was relieved to soon be able to get out of his wet clothes, but his conversation with Chichiri would now have to wait. He didn't want to bring up such a personal subject in front of strangers, even if they were offering them shelter. He could only hope that, when he again got the chance to talk to Chichiri about it, the monk would be more forthcoming. He pushed his hands into the snow-coated sleeves of his robe. "Thank you, um..."

The man looked up at Chiriko and grinned. The tanned skin around his eyes wrinkled with mirth. "I am Delger, leader of this encampment and son of the high elder of the Ha Tribe."

"Thank you for your generous offer, Delger, no da. We really appreciate it, na no da." Chichiri urged the horse on with a flick of the reins and it started forward, its plodding steps keeping pace with the men on foot.

Delger placed a hand on the horse's neck, patting it gently as he walked. The horse nickered and shook its head clear of fallen snow. "So, whom do I have the honor of addressing? You two must not be from Hokkan if you are braving the snows with no packs or provisions."

Chichiri chuckled. "Ah, forgive me, no da. I am Chichiri and this is Chiriko, no da." In front of him, Chiriko nodded in greeting. "We've come to Hokkan from Kounan, na no da."

"That  **is**  a long journey if you've come to this land from beyond the sea." Delger laughed again before gesturing to the youngest of the hunters. "Vachir, run ahead and tell Checheg and Bayar we'll be having two guests for dinner." The boy nodded and took off through the still-falling snow, his hand clamped firmly to his russet-colored hat. "Well, my friends," he said, looking up at Chichiri and Chiriko, "let's hurry and get out of this weather, eh? Some hot tsuivan and suutei tsai should warm you right up."

\- o - o - o -

Snow fell steadily as Mitsukake followed after a now-silent Tasuki. He watched him scrub at his nose with the sleeve of his robe before breathing into his hands. A cloud of vapor streamed over Tasuki's shoulder toward him, only to disappear amid the snowflakes. Something had happened with Nuriko just before they left the tavern. Mitsukake didn't know what, but it had been enough for Nuriko to frown more deeply than he had ever seen. Ahead of him, Tasuki trudged through the ankle-deep drifts blanketing the alley. Snow clung to the hem of his robe as he caught the crests of the mounds with his feet.

"Yah sure we're goin' th' right way, Mitsukake?" Tasuki threw over his shoulder.

"Yes." The snow crunched under his feet as Mitsukake stepped into the prints left by Tasuki's boots.

Several long moments of silence stretched between them before Tasuki spoke again. "An' yer sure those ol' guys're gonna tell us what we wanna know?"

Mitsukake sidestepped a half-covered pile of broken crates someone had thrown from an upper window. "Yes." As they had learned with Tomoru, the elders were the ones who kept the history of Hokkan. If anyone knew the whereabouts of the Shinzahou, it would be them. Still, he hoped to get Tasuki talking before they got their information. Depending on what they found, he might not get a chance to ask again before they left Hokkan.

The pair continued on down the alley. The snow in Tasuki's hair began to melt into rivulets that trickled down the back of his neck and into his collar. He huddled farther into his robe. He knew Mitsukake could be terse, but this one-word answer thing was ridiculous. Tasuki didn't dislike him; in fact, he didn't really have an opinion about him one way or another. They had really never spent any time together, apart from the other seishi. Chiriko spent much more time with Mitsukake than he did. Still, he owed him one for the night of the Kutou trip. Even though he'd already used his powers to heal Miaka, Mitsukake had done his best to treat his wounds. A gust of cold wind funneled down the alley, shearing the loose flakes from the tops of the snowdrifts and throwing them against the two warriors. "'Ey, Mitsukake," Tasuki said, breaking the silence. "Yah sure are quiet back there. Yah alright?"

Finally, he had an opening. "I could ask you the same," Mitsukake replied. He'd never known Tasuki to avoid a direct question, though he did wonder if he would get a direct answer to what he had to ask.

Tasuki stopped. He turned to Mitsukake, brow raising. "What're yah talkin' about?"

"What's going on between you and Chichiri?" Mitsukake watched Tasuki's posture go rigid at the mention of the monk's name. The set of his shoulders tightened and he wrapped his arms around himself.

"Nothin'," Tasuki growled and turned his back. "Let's get goin'. We're lookin' fer that Shinzahou thing, ain't we?" He really didn't want to have this conversation. First Nuriko, now Mitsukake: did everyone know about him and Chichiri? He scowled and continued walking.

A tense silence fell over them. The crunch of snow beneath their feet and the whoosh of the wind as it blew over the tops of the buildings to either side of the alley were the only sounds for a long time. Mitsukake's brows furrowed. Inside his robe, Tama-neko shifted to push his head out of the collar. As snowflakes landed on his sensitive ears and nose, the cat twitched vigorously. "Tasuki," Mitsukake said. He wondered if Nuriko had the same trouble trying to get Tasuki to open up to him.

"I don' wanna fuckin' talk about it," Tasuki growled. Why couldn't Mitsukake just let it go? What business was it of his anyway? They were after the Shinzahou, weren't they? Shouldn't they be concentrating on that? It was their duty to summon Suzaku, right?  _Duty..._ He bared his fangs.

Mitsukake followed close behind. Blowing snow forced Tama-neko back into Mitsukake's robe. He squirmed down into the warm silk of the saffron-colored coat underneath, just above where it was tied at the waist. Without the cat as a barrier, snow found its way down the front of Mitsukake's robe and he pulled it tighter before crossing his arms and thrusting his bare hands into his armpits. He understood why Tasuki would choose to hold his problems close–Mitsukake himself guarded his thoughts and feelings much of the time–but it wasn't necessary. He'd kept his own thoughts inside, unable to relate enough to anyone after Shouka died to really open his heart and confidences, but after traveling this far with the Suzaku Seven, he found he had people who cared for him. Resolving to keep Tasuki from replaying his old mistakes, he began again. "You should–"

"I said I don't wanna fuckin' talk about it!" Spinning on his heel, Tasuki glared at Mitsukake, his earrings swinging at his jaw. The sharp sting of the cold air and the ashy smell of wood smoke assaulted his nose. He scowled, crossing his arms. "'Sides," he scoffed, "Nuriko told'ja all about it, didn' 'e?"

"Nuriko didn't tell me anything," Mitsukake replied. He frowned at Tasuki's bullheadedness. "Your emotions are not subtle." Tasuki humphed and shifted on his feet in front of him. A moment went by, then another, until they were silently trying to stare each other down. Mitsukake scowled. This was getting them nowhere. "I know you had a fight with Chichiri." He watched Tasuki again tense at the name. "It's affecting both of you and it needs to be resolved. Now, do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Do I gotta choice?" Frosty clouds of breath puffed from Tasuki's mouth as he spoke.

"No."

A great misty sigh escaped Tasuki's lips. The unimpressed look on Mitsukake's face told him all he needed to know; he was going to have to tell him.  _An' 'e's gonna lecture me 'bout how I fucked up,_ he thought. Tasuki looked down at the rapidly filling footprints at his feet. Kicking at them, he sent small showers of already-fallen snow into the air only to be caught and whisked off by the wind.  _Dammit._ Glancing off to his right, he saw the mouth of the alley. A few people passed by, their hats and robes coated with a fine layer of snow. He growled softly in the back of his throat. With a scowl, he turned and continued on, slower than before and very aware Mitsukake wanted an answer.

As Tasuki came to the end of the alley, he stepped out onto a wider, more used street. The musky scent of yak permeated the area despite the breeze and the cold. A few small shops dotted the stone buildings along the way, but none of them were as active or as large as the stalls in the market he'd seen earlier. An old man with a grass broom swept the snow from in front of one doorway and out into the street. Children bound up in thick felt robes ran around laughing in the packed-down, rutted lane. They weaved around yak-drawn wooden carts loaded down with bales of wool and bags of grain. A yak snorted as it trudged past, a cloud of foggy white breath puffing from its nostrils. The leather straps and brass fittings of its harness jangled as it shook the snow off its shaggy head and shoulders. Mitsukake walked up next to him and Tasuki frowned. "I…love 'im, Mitsukake."

Mitsukake looked over at Tasuki, his eyebrows rising. "What?" The clatter and squeak of an axle and the thunder of hooves drew their attention and cut off Mitsukake's questions.

A painted cart rolled down the street, a heavyset bearded man in a tan felt hat driving it. The cart's two oversized wheels bounced over the ruts in the snow as the yak pulling it loped toward them. The children scattered to get out of the way, but one little boy tripped on the hard-packed furrows.

"Hey kid! Look out!" Tasuki bellowed. He sprang toward him, but it was too late.

The boy tried to scramble out of the cart's way, but his foot slipped out from under him. Oblivious to the child, the man continued on, one bright yellow painted wheel rolling over the boy's leg with a sickening crunch.

The coppery scent of blood began to fill the air. Yaks drawing other carts shied at the smell, grunting and snorting as they hurried past. Younger children began to scream and cry as they fled the scene. Revelation temporarily forgotten, Mitsukake and Tasuki ran to the child along with the old man and a handful of older children. Deep crimson seeped out of the boy's dark green pant leg. It stained the fallen snow a bright pink, the still-falling flakes washing out the color with each passing moment.

Mitsukake knelt beside the boy and gingerly prodded his leg. The boy shrieked. Hot tears slid down his face as he tried to push Mitsukake's big hand away. "His leg has been crushed." Mitsukake looked up at the crowd gathered around. "We need to get him medical treatment at once."

"You there," the old man snapped and pointed a crooked finger at Mitsukake, "don't just sit there, bring the boy inside." Not waiting for a reply, he tottered off toward the doorway he'd been sweeping just moments earlier.

Mitsukake and Tasuki shared a look before the healer scooped up the little boy and both warriors followed after.

\- o - o - o -

"Right through here," Delger said as he held up the thick felt door to the yurt. He ushered both Chichiri and Chiriko in as a gust of wind and snow all but pushed the two seishi inside.

Chiriko glanced around as they entered. Flames crackled and jumped across the coals in the yurt's central firepit as the wind whipped the glowing embers into a blaze. Orangey tendrils licked up the side of a round iron pot nestled into the crumbling shell of a log. The lid rattled as the contents bubbled and roiled, allowing the scent of fresh pepper and garlic to escape. An arm's length from the iron pot sat a smaller, cylindrical pot, its lid propped next to it on the rocks bordering the pit. Inside, on a metal grate elevated above a pool of not-quite-boiling water, a dozen or so dumplings huddled together. They looked to Chiriko much like the kuushuur he'd eaten at the tavern earlier, but these were obviously meant for steaming, not frying. The tell-tale licorice-like smell of caraway hung just below the pine of the burning logs.

A few pieces of wooden furniture lined the walls of the yurt, painted in the same bright reds and yellows that he had seen in Tomoru's village. A neat pyramid of split logs sat near the yurt's door, ready to use at a moment's notice. Rich blue, green, and orange embroidery picked out elaborate geometric patterns on the wool rugs covering the floor and hanging from the walls like tapestries. The whole yurt exuded an air of homey coziness. As his gaze moved upward, he cocked his head. Near the junction of the curved walls with the conical ceiling hung row upon row of what looked to be wood, but was actually dried meat. Chiriko had read about the nomads of Hokkan employing such a preservation technique in an ancient tome in the imperial library as he worked to craft the map the Shichiseishi had used on their journey north. The shriveled, vaguely rectangular sticks hung from the the rafters from cotton string, creating a sort of suspended forest of leafless branches.

A middle-aged woman in a bright yellow felt robe sat on an embroidered rug near the fire pit. On her lap lay a wooden board. Circles of pressed dough were strewn across the surface, along with a few small bronze bowls filled with what smelled like garlic, more caraway, and a mixture of ground meat and onion. She looked up as the two seishi spent a moment taking in the yurt. "Ah, travelers, please do come in." Putting the board down, she pushed herself to her feet. She moved to a red-and-yellow-painted cabinet a few paces from the yurt's door flap and brought out two heavy cotton towels. She smiled as she handed them to Chichiri and Chiriko. "Please, let me take your wet robes. You must be freezing from your ride in such inclement weather."

Both men took the proffered towels gratefully and began to remove their robes. Chiriko fumbled a moment with his robe's belt before shrugging out of the wet garment. "Thank you very much." Folding the robe neatly, he handed it to the kind woman with a smile of his own. He unfolded the brightly dyed towel and began to pat his hair and face dry. Out of the corner of his eye, Chiriko watched Chichiri do the same.

"Checheg, my love!" Delger exclaimed as he walked to the woman and took hold of her shoulders. She let out a small squeak as he did so. "Genbu be praised! We brought down a fine elk. A fine elk!" He kissed her on the cheek before letting go, and walked to the yurt's far wall. Taking up an embossed leather case, he pulled out a carved and painted stool. He plopped down onto it and placed the case across his lap. "You should have seen Vachir, my love. A talented hunter he's becoming, to be sure. Brought the thing down through the driving snow and with his first shot!" Delger chuckled. "He and Qacha are helping Bayar dress it as we speak." Planting his bow firmly against his booted foot, he pulled hard, flexing its laminated wood and horn limbs until he could easily remove the string. Without it, the bow curled back on itself until it resembled a lopsided circle. "It will last us a good while, even should Yisun and Bora's party be unsuccessful." He placed the bow and detached string into the case and closed it gently. "Still, if the snows continue to block the pass, we should look into taking a few more animals to preserve for borts. We may have to wait until the spring thaws to return to the rest of the tribe."

"Dear, we have guests," Checheg chided as she laid out the robes near the fire to dry. "I doubt they wish to hear of our troubles." She gestured for the two seishi to take a seat on the rugs ringing the fire pit.

"No, please, don't worry about us, no da." Chichiri shook his head, hoping to dispel the woman's concerns. Returning the towel with a nod of thanks, he took a seat and rubbed his cold-numbed hands together over the fire's warmth. "We're imposing on your hospitality, after all, na no da."

Chiriko also returned his towel. Taking a place next to the monk, he cocked his head. "You've been separated from your tribe?"

"Yes," Delger said, a frown curving his lips just below his thick mustache. "The snows came a bit early this year and closed the northeast pass many weeks earlier than usual. With the route blocked, we've been forced to remain camped here on the outskirts of Touran for the last fortnight."

"Does your tribe often travel to Touran?" Chiriko's stomach growled audibly as Checheg ladled some of the boiling stew from the round pot into a heavy bronze bowl. His eyes widened and he flushed a bright pink as the woman chuckled. "Please, excuse me. I'm so sorry," he said with a simper. He looked away, his ears turning red, as he accepted the bowl of tsuivan and a pair of chopsticks.

"Don't apologize! It's a compliment! Checheg's tsuivan is the best in all of Hokkan!" Delger threw his head back and laughed. "The tsuivan and the buuz really do smell wonderful, my love," he added and grinned at his wife, who only smiled and rolled her eyes as she handed a steaming bowl and another pair of chopsticks to Chichiri. Once the two seishi had their food, Delger continued. "The Ha Tribe sends a small contingent to Touran in the late summer of every year to trade for items we cannot craft ourselves. We have a strong hunting tradition in our tribe, so we trade pelts and hides for things like flour, cotton, and vegetables."

After providing her husband with his own meal, Checheg retrieved a free-standing metal grate from the cabinet she'd gotten the towels from earlier. Placing it in the firepit above the coals, she set a high-sided metal bowl filled with water atop it. She then returned to her seat and took up the wooden board and its contents. Chiriko watched her stuff and twist closed dumpling after dumpling with quick, skillful movements.

Delger took a bite of the tsuivan, his brow furrowing as he did. "In my grandfather's time, the markets of Touran were awash with goods from the eastern lands. Now, most of what we trade for comes from the western trade roads at higher cost. We can ask only half as much for our pelts as we could a decade ago, if that." He sighed. "There's not much call for furs in the deserts of Sairou." Delger paused and looked down at the wool rug he sat upon. "The Ha Tribe has always struggled to eke out a living from the land, but this may just be the hardest struggle we've yet faced." Shrugging, his lips quirked into a halfhearted smile. "But, what are we simple hunters and herders to do? As long as the Kutou emperor has his ambition set on war with Kounan, trade with the eastern lands simply will not flow."

Chichiri nodded and frowned. He knew Kutou had a warlike history–Tomoru had told them that only Genbu's intervention had saved Hokkan from Kutou's invasion two hundred years ago–but to hear that Kutou's belligerence toward Kounan now was also impacting Hokkan's people was sobering. Summoning Suzaku and stopping the Seiryuu wasn't just about Kounan's safety anymore, it seemed. He gazed down into his food and watched a piece of carrot float around the bowl as he picked at a nearby noodle with his chopsticks. They had to find the Shinzahou as soon as possible.

Chiriko's brow furrowed. He sympathized with Delger and his tribe's situation. The books he'd found in the imperial library had told of the harshness of Hokkan's climate and its geography. Mountainous and snowy, the land wasn't suitable for agriculture, leaving the people with really only herding, hunting, and mining as viable industry. And yet, even those options were difficult and labor-intensive. Unlike Kounan's people, the people of Hokkan had to struggle to maintain their way of life against such huge obstacles. Was there anything he could do to help them? He took a bite of the tsuivan and turned the problem over in his mind.

Delger looked back and forth between the two men. "Ah, I apologize," he said, waving the chopsticks in his hand as if to ward off the tension that had descended. "You are from Kounan, are you not? I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Checheg always tells me I speak far too much."

"Please, don't apologize," Chiriko replied. He held the bronze bowl and the slender copper chopsticks up as he scrutinized the geometric patterns pressed into them. The toolmarks were delicate and very deliberately arranged so as to add another dimension to the design. When the piece had been polished, the tiny indentations were left dark, purposefully creating a shadow, mid-tone, and highlight on the intertwining knotwork encircling the vessel. He shifted his attention back to Delger, a small smile on his lips. Maybe he had an idea... "By the looks of this bowl and these chopsticks," Chiriko said, "I would say that some of your people are very skilled craftsmen."

Delger blinked a few times, then nodded slowly. "Yes, there are several craftsmen among the Ha Tribe. Temur, our tribe's smith, made the bowl and chopsticks you hold."

Chiriko glanced down at Delger's boots. They were a simple leather with upturned toes, dyed a similar navy to his robe, but the craftsman who'd made them had been very meticulous. Each knotwork medallion had been carefully embossed and appliquéd with tiny, contrasting stitches. Even the seams up each boot's shaft were impeccable; they were tight and nearly invisible. The work was exquisite. "Could you not utilize these talents to help your tribe?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chichiri watching him as well.

"I am unsure of what you mean..." Delger cocked his head, brow furrowed in confusion.

Chiriko put his empty bowl and utensils down before tucking his hands into the sleeves of his coat. "Your craftsmen make items for you tribe's use, but couldn't they create items for sale or trade? Instead of receiving only a few coins in trade for a pelt at market, by crafting that pelt into a pair of leather boots or a horse's bridle, your tribe would be able to trade for anything it needed with the profit made from those items."

Delger scratched at his beard. "We could make those items to trade. They are useful to our tribe, so I can see how they would be valuable to someone else, but how would we make a profit off such things?"

Chiriko nodded. "What I propose," he said, his smile widening at the look of interest on the man's face, "is that your craftsmen create items specifically for trading from the hides and pelts your hunters collect. That way, you will be able to command a higher price at market. The time and effort your craftsmen put into the pieces could also be included in the amount you could trade it for, not just the initial trade price of the hides or pelts themselves." Chiriko's cheeks flushed as Chichiri reached out and gently patted his shoulder. He returned the monk's smile with a simper before looking once more at Delger. "It might not be a total solution to the problem of trade with Kutou and the east being blocked, but it would make it easier to get what your tribe needs to survive."

Delger's dark eyebrows rose toward his hairline as the idea seemed to sink in. "Checheg, my love! Are you hearing this?!" He looked to his wife, eyes alight with excitement. He put his own bowl down and clapped his hands together. "Unegen and Erdene already fashion hide into leather for our quivers and boots. And Temur could make a few more bits and fittings for bridles. We could finally afford to expand the herd! Or purchase enough vegetables to last until the spring thaw!" He let out a giddy laugh and stretched his arms wide. "Praise Genbu! Praise Genbu for  **you** , travelers!  **Anything** ,  **anything**  at  **all**  that we could provide, please, just ask and it is yours!"

Chiriko glanced at Chichiri and the two seishi nodded to each other. The monk set down his bowl and turned back to Delger. He laced his fingers in his lap. "We've come to Hokkan in search of the Shinzahou of Genbu, no da. Can you tell us anything about it, no da?"

"The Shinzahou of Genbu?" Delger cocked his head. "Indeed?"

Chiriko nodded. "Yes. We are two of the celestial warriors in service to the Priestess of Suzaku. We've come to search for the Shinzahou to prevent Kutou's invasion."

"Celestial warriors..." Delger eyes darted to his wife and he and Checheg shared a long look. After a moment, Delger returned his attention to the two seishi. "My love, please get our honored guests some suutei tsai."

Rising from her spot, Checheg turned to Chichiri and Chiriko and bowed slightly at the waist. "Warriors of Suzaku," she said, "please, the least we can do is offer you some suutei tsai. I shall prepare it while you continue your discussion with my husband."

"Thank you very much, but you don't have to go out of your way for us, no da." Chichiri gestured to the bowl of tsuivan by his side. "You've already done so much already, na no da."

Checheg smiled and shook her head. "It would be our pleasure." Turning, she headed to the cabinet near the door and rummaged inside once more. Pulling out a small, covered bronze vessel, two bronze drinking cups, and the broken corner of a block of powdered and pressed tea, she headed back to the firepit, taking a leather bag hanging from a hook on the yurt wall as she went. She slipped the bit of block into the now-boiling bowl of water on the grate she'd placed earlier. Stirring it around with a large bronze spoon, the light, earthy scent of brewing tea began to fill the yurt.

"It may not be much, given what you've done to help our tribe, but..." Delger began again as his wife worked on the suutei tsai. His face took on a thoughtful expression and he scratched at his beard. "A legend has been passed down to each elder, from father to son, since my grandfather's grandfather's time. It tells of a young hunter from the Ha Tribe that was marked by Genbu as one his seven Stars. Being so chosen, this young hunter was destined to serve the priestess in her quest to summon the beast god."

Chichiri's eyes widened. He glanced at Chiriko, holding the scholar's equally surprised look for a moment before returning his attention to Delger. "A hunter from your tribe was a celestial warrior of Genbu, no da?"

"So the legend tells. This young warrior, it is said, met the priestess near the base of Mount Koku, the sacred black mountain, which lies some two hundred li north of Touran."

"Does the legend mention anything about the Shinzahou?" Chiriko asked, his eyes wide and shining with excitement. "Or where it may be located?" This was the information they had been looking for! If the Ha Tribe legend was correct and its details complete, the Shinzahou could be theirs within just a few days.

Delger frowned and shook his head slowly. "I am afraid the legend ends with the hunter's departure into the service of the priestess. He never returned to the tribe after Genbu's summoning. It is assumed he died sometime during the execution of his duty, but his true fate remains a mystery to this day. And as for the Shinzahou," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "none now know where it lies."

"I see." Chiriko let out a small sigh. They had been so close... Still, he shouldn't have expected the Shinzahou to fall into their hands that easily. The nomadic peoples of Hokkan kept their histories as oral tradition passed down through the tribal elders, not as written accounts in books. In any case, what Delger had told them was more information than they had started with. He couldn't be disappointed that they now had a direction to focus their search in.

Upon seeing Chiriko's downcast expression, Delger simpered and rubbed the back of his head. "I am sorry I do not know any more that may help you. Though, perhaps searching the mountain may yield some clues? It is there, at Mount Koku's summit, that it is said the priestess descended to our world." He leaned forward and fixed both seishi with a grave look. "Do be wary if you venture there; the mountain's peak is treacherously rocky and snow-bound throughout the year. Few dare to brave it and fewer still return from the journey."

"No, no, you've given us a great deal of useful information, no da. Thank you for all your help, na no da," Chichiri said.

A gust of snow blew into the yurt as the heavy felt door flap opened, cutting off the conversation. The faint metallic scent of blood permeated the air along with the crisp cold of the wind. Chichiri, Chiriko, Delger, and Checheg all turned to look as a young girl in a pale blue robe covered by a stained linen apron entered. "Father, we are working to dress the elk Vachir brought down, but–" Her exclamation came to a halt with a squeak as her eyes fell on the two seishi sitting near the firepit. Clasping her hands in front of her, she bowed low. "Oh, please forgive me! I forgot we had guests!" Her two black braids slid off her back to hang nearly to the ground before her.

"Bayar," Checheg said, moving to intercept her. She began ushering the girl back toward the door to the yurt. "Come. Let us leave your father and our visitors to their discussion."

The girl glanced back and forth between Checheg and Delger. Her brow furrowed in apparent frustration. "But, Mother..."

Delger chuckled and raised a hand to stop the two women. "Let her speak, my love. I am sure our honored guests do not mind." He glanced at Chichiri and Chiriko, who promptly shook their heads.

Bayar's face pinkened as her eyes traveled over the monk and the scholar. Looking away quickly, she took a step toward the three still-seated men. "Father," she said, her seeming embarrassment fading as she focused on Delger. "Bora and Uncle have returned with two enormous bull elk!" A smile bloomed across her face and she wiped her hands on a less-stained corner of her apron. "The animals are so large that Qacha, Vachir, Altani, and I will not be able to dress and prepare all three ourselves."

"Ha ha!" Delger bounded from his seat and took his daughter by the shoulders. The girl's braids swished across her chest with the movement. A broad grin seized the man's face. "Praise Genbu for this day!" he laughed. The smile on Bayar's face widened into a grin to match that of her father. "Come, show me these gifts of the beast god!" Sweeping the felt door aside and letting in another shower of snowflakes, Delger placed a hand on Bayar's shoulder and followed her out. The two of them disappeared into the still-falling snow just as the door flap fell closed.

Checheg stared at the yurt door for a long moment before sighing. "I apologize for my husband's and daughter's rudeness, Warriors of Suzaku," she said, shaking her head. The carved lapis and turquoise beads and delicate gold and silver chains braided into her ebon hair jangled together. She turned back toward Chichiri and Chiriko. "Please be assured: the Ha Tribe is not nearly so mannerless as they make it seem."

Chichiri chuckled and shook his own head. His half-dry bangs bobbed with the movement. "No, no, it's fine, no da. Please, don't worry about it, no da."

She looked at Chichiri and Chiriko in turn. Her tanned face softened as a smile graced her lips. "I thank you both for your help. Our tribe's ability to weather the harsh winters and short summers has surely been bolstered by your suggestions. Once we return to the rest of the tribe, I shall make sure to pass your ideas on to the high elder." The woman smiled as she walked back to the center of the yurt. "Please, let us give you, our honored guests, a place to stay." Stooping, she placed the buuz she had made during the discussions about trade goods and the Shinzahou into the open pot in the firepit before replacing the lid. "Night has fallen and the snows do not look to be letting up." Checheg gave the tea one last stir before opening the closure on the leather bag she'd brought from the hook by the door. The scent of fresh milk mingled with the tea aroma as she poured the buff-colored liquid into the brew. "It would be much safer for you and your horse to return to Touran when the morning breaks. Perhaps the weather will have improved by then." Opening the covered bronze vessel, she added a few generous pinches of salt. She ladled some of the milk-tea mixture out with the spoon several times, each time pouring it back into the bowl from a short height. "Please, enjoy," she said, seemingly satisfied with the amount of mixing, and filled the two cups she'd retrieved. She handed one to Chichiri and one to Chiriko. "I can take your bowls and utensils, if you wish."

"Thank you." Chiriko nodded as he took the cup in his small hands and handed her the empty bowl and chopsticks in return. "The tsuivan was very good." He took a sip of the steaming suutei tsai. It was much weaker than the tea he'd routinely drunk in Kounan and quite salty, but it wasn't bad. He watched Chichiri return his bronze bowl and accept the cup from Checheg as well.

The door opened once more as Delger poked his head into the yurt, grin still in place. His white teeth provided a stark contrast to his dark beard. "Checheg! Come look at these magnificent animals!" he exclaimed. Snow began to coat the wool rugs near the door as he held up the heavy felt. He flapped his arm in a vigorous signal to follow. "Come, come!"

Checheg glanced down at the melting flakes on the ground and the damp spots they left behind. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed into a flat line. Turning to the two seishi, she bowed slightly at the waist. The ornaments in her hair glittered in the firelight as she did so. "Please, excuse me. Feel free to serve yourselves more of the suutei tsai, if you wish." Turning on her heel, she walked to Delger and the open door. Checheg's eyes narrowed as she shot him a glare, but the look didn't seem to faze him at all. Still grinning, he draped an arm around her shoulders and led her out as the door flap fell closed behind them.

Relative quiet descended on the yurt once more. The fire crackled and popped. A burned-out shell of a log broke in two and each half slid down the pile of coals in a shower of embers. The clack-whump of the lid of the cylindrical pot Checheg had put the buuz into as it jumped to let out a puff of steam punctuated the low hum of the boiling water inside. Chiriko took another sip from his cup. Alone once more, he now had the opportunity to speak to Chichiri about their previous conversation. But, how could he bring it up without causing the monk to change the subject again?

The perpetual smile on Chichiri's face made it easy for the man to pretend nothing was amiss, but Chiriko had felt the tension in Chichiri's posture and heard the near-despair in his voice when he'd admitted to being in love with Tasuki as they were riding. He'd gotten no answer when he'd asked if Tasuki shared Chichiri's feelings, either. Could that be part of why the monk wanted to avoid the subject?

It was true that Chichiri and Tasuki were almost direct opposites. Tasuki wanted action, to be on the move even if that meant pacing back and forth until needed. He rarely showed much foresight when dealing with things, choosing to strike first and ask questions afterward. Chichiri, on the other hand, cultivated caution and an air of aloofness. During the short time he had been part of the Shichiseishi, Chiriko had seen just how often Chichiri had conferred with Hotohori and other palace advisors. He'd spearheaded the outfitting of the ship on which they'd made the voyage to Hokkan and, at Tomoru's village, Chichiri had spent much longer speaking with the elder about Touran and the Shinzahou than Chiriko himself had. He didn't know to what extent Chichiri saw himself as responsible for driving their mission to summon Suzaku, but the monk seemed to want to put the burden all on his own shoulders. Chiriko sighed. It certainly wasn't the most harmonious pairing of two people he'd ever come across. Still, their differences aside, something had drawn Chichiri to Tasuki to the point the monk had fallen in love with him. Both men seemed hurt and upset by the current situation. How could he help them? Was there anything he could do?  _If only he would choose to confide in me..._

"Tomorrow morning, we should head back to Touran and try to get in touch with Miaka and the others, no da," Chichiri said, finally breaking the silence. "Hopefully, the snow will have stopped by then, no da." He pushed himself to his feet and walked to the bowl of milk tea and ladled himself another cupful. "We'll need everyone's help to search Mount Koku, no da. Especially if it's as dangerous as Delger warned, na no da."

"Yes, I agree." Chiriko nodded as he pushed himself to standing. "Though, we should be prepared to spend the foreseeable future in Hokkan if any of the others have found leads about the Shinzahou. Investigating each clue could take a considerable amount of time." He moved to deposit his teacup on the small table near the yurt door where Checheg had placed the bowls and chopsticks from dinner before she'd left.

Chichiri sighed. "That's true, no da." If it did take days or weeks to track down the Shinzahou, the uncomfortable awkwardness he felt around Tasuki would only get worse. It was already bad enough that the situation between them had gotten to the point where the other celestial warriors were taking note. How he cursed his inability to keep his focus squarely on their mission. With a shake of his head, he took a long sip of the suutei tsai and sat once more on one of the embroidered rugs. "I just wish I could update His Majesty on our progress, no da. With the Seiryuu Seven more than likely already in Hokkan, it's just too risky, na no da."

Chiriko's brow furrowed. The look on Chichiri's face seemed a bit darker than it had a moment ago, his smile fading until only a hint of its previous mirth remained. It reminded Chiriko of the expression of unease he'd seen on Chichiri's face during their earlier conversation.  _I have to do something..._ "I'm sure His Highness wouldn't mind waiting until we've secured the Shinzahou before contacting him." Taking a seat as well, he studied Chichiri. "Right now, I'm much more concerned about Tasuki's and your well-being."

"I'm fine, Chiriko no da." Chichiri glanced at Chiriko as the scholar tucked his hands into the sleeves of his silk coat. Doubt played across Chiriko's quirked lips and drawn brow. Chichiri really didn't want to revisit this conversation. Letting his mask smile for him, he gave Chiriko the most sincere smile he could muster. "Really, I am, no da. You don't have to worry about me, na no da."

For a long moment, the roil of the milk tea and the steam escaping the pot in the firepit were the only sounds. An air of tension filled the yurt. Chiriko watched Chichiri stare into the glowing embers. The monk's smile had disappeared, replaced by a small frown. Chiriko fidgeted with the silk cuff of his robe. He didn't want to upset Chichiri any further than he already was, but he didn't want to fail either. Mitsukake had entrusted him this task and he was depending on him to see it through. He couldn't let the big healer down. "Chichiri, please," Chiriko pleaded, "you don't have to pretend that nothing is wrong. Ignoring how you feel can be harmful to the spirit. Laozi once taught that, 'Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.' Even if Tasuki doesn't share your feelings, please don't cut yourself off from those of us who care about you."

The yurt's door flap opened once more to the sound of snow crunching under boots and the gusting of wind. Chichiri glanced at the door for a moment before turning to Chiriko. He felt a twinge of regret as he held the scholar's wide-eyed gaze. "We must stop Kutou from invading Kounan, no da. It's our duty as celestial warriors, no da," Chichiri said finally in a low voice, cutting him off. Concern, embarrassment, and a hint of shame passed in turn across Chiriko's face.  _I'm sorry,_  he thought as he looked once more to the yurt's door."I don't have time to worry about Tasuki right now, na no da."

"Ah, I apologize for leaving you alone," Checheg said as she entered, snow wreathing her dark hair and dusting the tops of her shoulders. "My brother, Yisun, has offered you the use of his yurt for the night. I hope this will be acceptable to you?" She brushed the accumulated snow off her robe.

"Of course, no da." Chichiri stood and grabbed his now-dry robe from its spot next to the firepit. Pulling on the warm indigo felt, he moved toward the door, mirthful smile in place once more. "We appreciate all the hospitality you've shown us, na no da."

Checheg smiled. "Good, good. Please," she said, gesturing out into the darkness beyond the yurt, "follow me and I will take you there."

Chiriko watched Chichiri as he himself rose and also donned his robe. His brow furrowed. The monk seemed completely at ease as he set his teacup down on the table next to the door and took the flap from Checheg.  _I'm so sorry, Mitsukake._ It was almost as if Chichiri had decided their conversation had never happened. Chiriko pulled his robe closed and tucked his hands into the heavy salmon-colored sleeves.  _I've failed._  A deep frown curving his lips, he moved to the door as well, ducking under the thick, embroidered felt and stepping out into the cold, snowy night.  _Is there anything we can do to help them now?_

\- o - o - o -

"Set him down there," the old man said as he threw open the door and marched into the lamplit apartment. He gestured over his shoulder to a low, rectangular bed in the corner before wobbling to a cabinet on the opposite side of the room.

Cold sheets of snow blew in with them as Mitsukake followed the old man, Tasuki close behind. Dying flames reignited and leapt across the charred logs on the hearth for just a moment, invigorated by the gust of wind. The bronze lamps scattered about the room flickered wildly before Tasuki pushed the door shut with a resounding thud.

The boy cried and screamed as he clutched at his bloody leg. Mitsukake stooped and laid him down on the red painted surface. He knelt and began feeling around the broken area. It was definitely fractured into at least four separate pieces. His healing powers would cure the boy in an instant, but he was wary of using them. Chichiri had warned them all before they'd left the tavern that the Seiryuu could detect them through the use of Suzaku's power. And if the enemy was nearby, he didn't want to risk being without his powers at a critical moment.

The old man returned and pushed himself in between Mitsukake and the boy. His arms were full of earthenware jars, aromatic herbs, and bandages. He scowled. "Stay out of the way, travelers, unless one of you is a doctor."

Mitsukake didn't move. Even kneeling, he was still taller than the hunched, white-haired old man. "I am a doctor," he said.

The old man blinked and the irritated look that had been on his face faded. "Why didn't you say so then?" He gave a gap-toothed smile and shoved the items he'd been carrying into Mitsukake's hands. He didn't wait for an acknowledgment. Turning to the patient, he took the boy's wrist in his liver-spotted hand and began noting a pulse. "Give me the decoction of datura. We can't have him wailing like that when we set the bone, can we?"

It took a second for Mitsukake to process the man's change of attitude. He glanced over at Tasuki. The redhead had posted himself near the heavy wooden door through which they'd entered. He leaned against the stuccoed stone wall with his arms crossed, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and cheek. The snow that had been piling up on his shoulders had melted and a puddle of water spread across the brick tile floor under his boots. In the light of the bronze lamp on a table next to the door, Mitsukake watched Tasuki's brow furrow as his eyes tracked the old man attending to the boy.

_Datura, datura,_  Mitsukake thought as he turned back to the task at hand. Looking through the bottles and jars, he pushed up the oiled leather lids and glanced at their contents. He recognized the piney scent of amur cork and the moist, earthy smell of myrrh immediately, but some of the others he couldn't place. In a round clay jar with an ochre tint, he found what he was looking for. A meaty, nutty odor wafted out. It was still so pungent even in decoction form. "Here," he said, handing it to the old man.

Using a small bronze spoon, the man fed the boy two measured spoonfuls. The child's cries died down quickly and his eyelids began to droop. "Now," the old man said, turning to Mitsukake, "get the splints from the table near the hearth." He glanced over at Tasuki. "And you there, throw a few more logs on the fire."

Rising from his spot, Mitsukake made his way across the modest room. It was not much bigger than one of the rooms in the guest palace back in Eiyou. A few thick wool rugs covered the tile floor near a small bed and end table that were probably the old man's. Both were painted red and covered in the same colorful geometric patterns Mitsukake had seen in Tomoru's village. A large bronze mirror hung on the wall near it. A wavy reflection of himself undulated across the polished surface as he walked past. The old man's home reminded Mitsukake a lot of his father's home in Choukou before the flood that killed him and destroyed the house. He frowned and gathered up the splints under one arm.

Tasuki took a deep breath and shrugged. Stepping past Mitsukake as the big healer walked back to the boy, Tasuki moved without a word to obey the old man. He placed a few barky logs into the fireplace before returning to his spot by the door. Pine smoke drifted into the room for a moment as the fire roared back to life from glowing embers.

Mitsukake watched as the man removed the boy's leather boots and thick felt socks, setting them aside before he gently slipped the boy's blood-soaked pant leg off. The boy whimpered. Using a cotton cloth, he wiped up the semi-clotted blood. "Hold his shoulders," the old man instructed as Mitsukake knelt by the bedside. Taking the boy's ankle, the man lifted the broken leg and shook it. He nodded at the sound of the bone pieces rubbing together. The boy struggled weakly against the sedative and Mitsukake, but he didn't cry out again. The old man massaged the leg, manipulating the flesh with skilled hands. "I've pushed the fragments back into place." He opened another jar and spread its contents on the bruised and broken skin. Mitsukake thought the paste smelled similar to the liniment he'd used on Tasuki. "There. Wrap the wound and secure it tightly." Mitsukake nodded and set about splinting the boy's leg.

The old man stood and moved to a painted table near the hearth. Filling the bronze basin on it, he dipped his hands into the water before scrubbing with soap. He rinsed the honey-scented suds away and wiped his hands on another cloth. Looking at the two seishi, he took a handful of the herbs he'd originally given to Mitsukake and tottered back across the room to a table near the foot of the boy's bed. It was covered with other medicines in various states of preparation. Taking a seat in one of the chairs, he began crushing one of the fleshy roots in a stone mortar. The spicy scent of ginger filled the air. "Thank you for your help. Now," he said, "who are you?"

Mitsukake finished tying off the linen bandages to keep the splints in place. He smiled as the boy stilled and quietly began to snore. "I am Mitsukake," he said, rising from the floor, "and he is Tasuki." Tama-neko pushed his way up through Mitsukake's coat and robe until his head popped out the collar. The cat's ears swiveled and his nose wiggled as he took in the new surroundings and smells. "And this," Mitsukake chuckled, "is Tama."

The old man nodded. "My name is Gurban," he said. He portioned out the crushed root into a plain bronze cup filled with other ground herbs. "The way you speak..." Gurban scrutinized them for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two seishi. He smoothed his wispy beard with one hand. "You're from Kounan, across the sea, aren't you? What brings you to Hokkan?"

Tasuki shifted in his spot. "'S a long story," he muttered. A drop of water dripped from his hair onto his nose and rolled off the end. If he didn't dry himself off soon, he was going to go crazy.

"Where are my manners? Please, make yourselves at home." Gurban shook his head and got up from the table. He tottered toward the hearth. "You can hang your robes near the fire to dry."

"Thank you." Water dripped onto Mitsukake's hand from the lapel of his robe as he untied the belt. Tama-neko jumped out of the damp indigo felt just as it fell open, and landed on the medicine table. He stretched, his furry tail swishing, and mewed. "You ate plenty this morning," Mitsukake said, giving the cat a scratch behind the ears.

"The least I can do is offer you a place to stay for the night." Gurban took Mitsukake's robe from him and hung it from a bronze hook attached to the stucco next to the fireplace. He handed him a towel. "Perhaps you can tell me your story over a bowl of tsuivan," Gurban said, digging once more through the painted cabinet.

Mitsukake nodded, wiping the water off the back of his neck and out of his hair. "We would appreciate that." He glanced over at Tasuki.

With a look of relief and a great sigh, Tasuki whisked off his wet robe. He shook the water out of his hair like a dog, his necklaces clacking and his tessen jangling across his back. Stray strands fell into his eyes and over his nose. Walking over to the fireplace, he hung his robe on the hook as well. He nodded as Mitsukake gave him the towel and he started to dry his own hair. Tasuki looked much younger than he usually did to Mitsukake and he wondered if it had anything to do with their interrupted conversation.

_In love with Chichiri,_  he thought. He had never imagined anything of the like: an argument, a fight, an imagined slight perhaps, but not that. It would make more sense if it was Miaka, as all the celestial warriors felt some attraction to her, be it manifested as love like Tamahome and Hotohori, or affection like Chiriko and himself. His brow furrowed. He needed to talk to Tasuki more about it before he could really figure anything out.

"Here, here," Gurban said, drawing Mitsukake out of his thoughts. He pushed a bronze bowl and a pair of copper chopsticks into his hands. Taking up a large wooden spoon, Gurban gave the stew bubbling inside the iron pot hanging just above the hearth a good stir. The scent of garlic and pepper wafted out and got stronger as he ladled a serving into the bowl he'd given Mitsukake. "Eat, eat." He did the same for Tasuki before dishing some tsuivan into a bowl for himself. Plopping down on an embroidered wool rug near the fire, Gurban waited for his guests to do the same.

"We're celestial warriors of Suzaku," Mitsukake said once he'd seated himself. Tama-neko jumped down from the medicine table and bounded over before climbing into the big man's lap. He sniffed at the side of the bowl before putting a small paw on Mitsukake's hand and giving him a pitiful look. Mitsukake smiled and gave the cat a small piece of meat. "We've come to find the Shinzahou of Genbu."

"Suzaku, eh?" Gurban said. "You're a long way from home then." He took a bite of the steaming noodles and vegetables. The fire popped and a log rolled over, shifting the entire stack of wood in a small shower of sparks. "And the Shinzahou. No one has seen it since the Priestess of Genbu's time."

"D' yah know anythin' 'bout where we could find it?" Tasuki asked. He'd taken up a spot next to Mitsukake and a bit closer to the fire. Tama-neko licked his lips and jumped into the redhead's lap. He nuzzled the hand Tasuki held his chopsticks in. "Hey, get yer own!" Tasuki scowled, his fangs sticking out at the corners of his mouth, and lifted the bowl out of the cat's reach.

"Tama." Mitsukake frowned as the cat mewed at him.

Gurban chuckled. "Well," he said, "I know of no one who knows the true story of the priestess and her warriors anymore. The story is as much folklore as not these days. Even my grandmother knew only what was passed down to her from her grandmother."

Tasuki frowned. "How're we gonna summon Suzaku if we can't even find th' fuckin' thing?" If they couldn't find a lead, they would have to keep traveling until they found one. And that meant that he'd have to spend that much longer with a Chichiri that didn't want him, that acted as if he didn't exist, a Chichiri that he still loved. His brow furrowed and his grip on his bowl tightened. How much longer would this go on? And how much more could he take? Chichiri's words again flooded his mind:  _"I don't love you, Tasuki! I_ _ **have**_ _ **never**_ _loved you! I_ _ **will**_ _ **never**_ _love you!"_   _"After we retrieve the Shinzahou and summon Suzaku, our duty will be done and I will be gone. We won't see each other again. Until then, we have to work together. I suggest you keep that in mind."_

"I didn't say I knew nothing that might help you," Gurban said, finishing off his meal. "In the center of the market district is a stone monument." He rose and left his bowl and chopsticks on the table next to the fireplace before dragging a few more rugs onto the floor from a pile underneath it. He spread them around the area in front of the hearth. "The meaning of its inscription has been lost, but at the top is a carving of Genbu. If you can find someone to translate, it may tell you what you seek."

Mitsukake nodded. "We should take a look at the monument before we contact Miaka and the others. Perhaps someone in the market can help us read it."

"Yeah," Tasuki murmured.

Mitsukake turned to Tasuki. The look on the redhead's face was decidedly darker than when they'd started eating. It reminded him of the look he'd seen in the alley, when Tasuki had spoken of Chichiri.  _This isn't good,_  he thought. Shaking his head, Mitsukake held out another piece of meat to Tama-neko. The cat bounced off Tasuki's lap and took it eagerly before climbing up on Mitsukake's shoulder.

"I'll return shortly," Gurban said as he put on a black felt hat. He gathered the crushed herbs from the bronze cup on the medicine table into a small leather bag. "I need to notify Chagatai's parents about what happened. It shouldn't take long–they run a shop just up the street–but they may keep me for awhile." He chuckled and tottered to the door, placing a hand on the bronze door pull. "I apologize for not having proper accommodations; I rarely have guests outside of my patients." Gesturing toward the fireplace, he opened the door. A gust of cold air blew in, along with more snow. "I pulled out some wool rugs for you to sleep on. There are more under the table there if you need them." Gurban smiled and left, shutting the door behind him.

A long and tense silence descended on the room. The crackle of the fire seemed to swallow up all other sound. Mitsukake got up and placed his now-empty bowl on the table, next to the bowl Gurban had used. He watched Tasuki take a few more bites of his tsuivan. The upset expression had settled between the redhead's brows as a scowl, and on his lips as a deep frown. "Have you told him?"

Tasuki could feel Mitsukake's eyes on him. He knew what he wanted; he'd seen the healer glancing at him the entire evening. He began to wish he'd never said anything; just thinking about it hurt, but talking about it was so much more painful. Why did he tell either of them, Chichiri or Mitsukake? Yet, what could he do now? He'd already admitted that he had feelings for Chichiri and Tasuki doubted that he could laugh it off. Even as a child, he couldn't keep his mouth shut when it really mattered. He'd always taken the opportunity to voice his opinion about his sisters' choices for husbands or his mother's parenting skills; he had the scars on his head to prove that. Letting out a soft growl, Tasuki kept his eyes focused on the dancing fire."Why th' fuck do yah think I'm so pissed off?"

"He didn't react the way you expected."

Tasuki scowled, baring his fangs. "Fuckin' liar," he spat, finally looking at Mitsukake. "'E can take 'is 'duty' an' shove it up 'is fuckin' ass."

Tasuki's anger at what seemed to be Chichiri's rejection wasn't surprising, but the situation still didn't make much sense to him. Taking a deep breath, Mitsukake let it out slowly. The answers he was getting only seemed to be creating more questions, despite Tasuki's seeming willingness to talk to him. Who had lied, why, and about what? Did "duty" have something to do with their obligation as part of the Suzaku Seven, or was it about something else? And how did Nuriko fit into all of it? Perhaps, Mitsukake thought, he should start at the beginning: assess the situation, for good or ill, and begin to puzzle out the whole affair from that. "When did you know you were in love with him?"

Tasuki sighed. "I've wanted 'im since th' night 'fore him, Miaka, an' me went t' Kutou t' get Tama."

_That was the day we arrived at the palace._ It didn't surprise Mitsukake much that a quick-tempered, passionate man like Tasuki would end up falling for someone he had just met. A fleeting memory of his own realization about Shouka floated across his mind. He was young, barely sixteen and already established as the successor to his father, the village's healer. She had come to fetch her wayward cat who'd gotten itself stuck in a tree. Her golden hair shone in the crisp autumn sunlight as he tried to coax the cat down for her. He'd never spoken to her before–she was the daughter of the village's landowner and much more wealthy and noble than he was–but that day, when he saw her take the little white cat into her arms, cheeks flushed in the cool air and with a heartbreaking smile on her face, she was the most beautiful girl in all of the four empires and he knew that he would love her for the rest of his life. He shook his head at the irony. "Did you know if your feelings were mutual?"

Tasuki hunched his shoulders at the question. It reminded Mitsukake of an angry dog with its hackles raised. "I don't need a fuckin' lecture from you, too!" Tasuki snarled, slamming his nearly empty bowl to the tile floor. Some of the broth sloshed out with the force, running down the side to puddle underneath it. The copper chopsticks bounced out of the bronze vessel and clattered to a stop at the base of the brick hearth. "We almost fucked on th' way out 'ere, Mitsukake. 'E wants me. Bad." Running his hands through his hair, Tasuki dropped his forehead into his hands. A guttural groan worked its way from his throat. "Dammit! I don' understand!"

Mitsukake stood in stunned silence for a long moment. He had no idea what to say to that. It was difficult for him to wrap his mind around the idea. It seemed so out of character from what he knew about Chichiri. He knew the man to be quiet and level-headed, even reserved. He didn't doubt Tasuki was telling the truth; he couldn't imagine a more straightforward, honest person in word or deed. It just seemed so unlikely: Chichiri had nearly slept with Tasuki on their trip to Hokkan? "And you told Chichiri the night we stayed at Tomoru's village?"

Tasuki looked back into the fire and bared his fangs. The shifting light played over his face and hair. "Yeah."

"Tell me what happened when you told him."

"I've been tryin' t' tell 'im since Qi Xi an' 'e's been ignorin' me ever since. I was fed up, so I wanted answers. Didn't help 'e jumped me th' night b'fore."

_Qi Xi..._  Mitsukake's brow raised. That was just before they had left for Hokkan. He thought back to the ship. He'd seen both of them trading strange looks throughout the voyage. Knowing what he knew now put those looks into context. Chiriko had been right; there had been signs of something brewing all along.

"'E told me him jumpin' me was a 'mistake' an' that I didn't really love 'im." Tasuki clenched his hands into fists. "That it was 'purely physical.'" His jaw tensed for a moment. "'E said 'e didn't love me an' that 'e'd never love me. That our responsibility t' Suzaku an' Miaka was more important an' that Kutou'd use us bein' together as a reason t' invade Kounan." He gave a bitter bark of a laugh. "'E even said that after we summon Suzaku, 'e was gonna leave an' I'd never see 'im again."

Mitsukake empathized with Tasuki; Chichiri had been extremely harsh. Kutou starting an offensive against Kounan based on whether Suzaku's seishi were in a relationship seemed very unlikely. He didn't think the Seiryuu could even know that information if they were. Mitsukake frowned. From what he'd heard, it sounded as if Chichiri did reciprocate Tasuki's feelings, but wanted to deny them for some reason. He couldn't understand it; Chichiri was shrugging off the offer of a relationship with a man who loved him to remain alone and isolated. Life was much too short to ignore love. Shouka had died not even a year after they had finally begun their relationship, but he would never trade that short time and the pain of losing her for never having met her at all. "Why did you think Nuriko had told me about this?"

"'E found out about it at th' Qi Xi festival an' 'e'd been annoyin' th' shit outta me t' tell Chiri how I felt. I didn't wanna tell 'im what happened 'cause 'e said 'e'd hurt me if I messed it up with Chiri an' Miaka couldn't summon Suzaku." Tasuki shook his head. A look of defeat settled on his face as he sat, his head bowed, the firelight playing over his unruly locks of vermilion hair. "I figured 'e came t' you t' find out what I wasn't tellin' 'im."

Sighing, Mitsukake moved to place a hand on Tasuki's shoulder. He gripped it tightly and with as much compassion as he could. "I think Chichiri shares your feelings, Tasuki, but there is something else weighing on his heart," he said. "Give him time. He may change his mind once we get the Shinzahou and summon Suzaku."

Tasuki looked up and Mitsukake saw a glimmer of the familiar optimism return to his eyes. "Maybe yer right," Tasuki said. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "But it sure as hell don't make it any easier, does it?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't." Mitsukake patted Tasuki on the arm and rose. He grabbed the towel Gurban had given them from the table and wiped up the spilled tsuivan. Putting Tasuki's bowl and chopsticks with the others on the table, he pulled over a few more wool rugs. "Come, we should get some rest while we can. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." Tama-neko stirred from his nap on Mitsukake's shoulder and jumped down to the floor. Moving closer to the fire, the cat stretched and yawned wide, showing off his tiny white teeth and pink tongue. He nuzzled into the wool rug nearest the hearth and promptly fell back asleep.

Tasuki nodded and began removing his tessen and boots. _I hope yer right, Mitsukake..._

\- o - o - o -

Chichiri squinted at the dazzling glint of sunlight bouncing off the freshly fallen snow. A boundless and brilliant azure sky, nearly the same hue as his hair, opened before them as he and Chiriko rode back toward Touran. High above, thin clouds drifted in small, gauzy patches across the crystalline blue expanse. The desolate and rutted road he and Chiriko had traveled the day before had been transformed into a thing of sparkling beauty. The deep furrows and slushy tracks of yesterday were wiped clean. Only an immaculate swath of white remained, neatly cutting the deep wood in two as it meandered back toward Touran's gates.

"I can't believe that we're the first group to find a lead on the Shinzahou's whereabouts," Chiriko said, looking up at Chichiri from his place in the saddle in front of the monk. "We haven't seen any signals from any of the others at all."

The corners of Chichiri's perpetual smile edged up at the enthusiasm in the scholar's voice. "We were lucky to have run into Delger and his group, no da. Who knows how long we'd have been searching if we hadn't, na no da?"

"That's true." Misty clouds of vapor escaped from Chiriko's mouth as he spoke. "After two hundred years, even the oral history of the Ha Tribe–who's ancestor was one of the Genbu Seven–is only fragmentary. That being the case," he looked back out at the passing snowbound landscape, "I can't imagine how the others may be doing. It was quite fortuitous that  **we've**  learned as much as we have."

Chichiri hummed in agreement and the conversation slacked off into silence. A handful of nuthatches twittered in the white-mantled trees lining the road. Small clumps of snow fell from the bare branches to the forest floor as the little birds fluttered back and forth. Fine showers of snowflakes, kicked up as their mount crunched its way through the drifts, floated off on the cold breeze. A column of warm, foggy breath streamed from the horse's nose as it trotted on.

Chiriko tucked his cold hands into the sleeves of his robe. He started as he bumped the hard, cylindrical outline of the bamboo flare under the heavy, salmon-colored felt.  _I almost forgot!_  he thought to himself as he traced the object's shape through the material with slender fingers. "Why don't we use the flare now?" he said, again turning his gaze up to Chichiri. "Delger mentioned that the road splits toward the north another two li past the encampment. And we do have to travel north to investigate Mount Koku. If we fire the signal flare as we travel back to Touran, it would give everyone time to gather at the city gates."

"I know, no da. But, I'm worried the others won't see the flare from this far outside the city, no da." Glancing down, Chichiri noted the frown forming on Chiriko's lips. "We should wait to use it until we're closer, na no da."

"But, the flares are meant to be used over long distances, Chichiri," Chiriko countered, his brow furrowing. "The formula Hotohori's court alchemist used is potent enough that anyone in a ten-li radius will see-Ah!"

Chiriko's words dissolved into a whimper. Alarmed, Chichiri opened his mouth to speak. The burning light of Suzaku's power shot through him then, scorching his veins and spiking into the base of his skull with the incandescence of the god of the south himself. "Agh!" His mouth snapped shut hard enough that his teeth rattled. A vicious, rasping gasp tore from his constricted throat. His heart skipped several beats as the air refused to reenter his aching lungs. Pulling up hard on the reins of their mount, he fought to remain upright. The horse whinnied and snorted as it came to a stop. Thick clouds of breath poured from its mouth and nose as it gnashed at the bit and yanked its head from side to side. And just as suddenly, the feeling was gone.

"Chichiri!" Chiriko jerked his gaze up to the unnerved monk. "Did-did you feel that? Just now?" He grasped at the felt cloaking his knees until the knuckles of his hands turned white.

Chichiri heaved in labored breath after labored breath. That was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Suzaku's power never flared like that, not even when he was actively channeling it. A creeping dread began to coil in his gut. "Something's wrong...with one of our Warriors, no da."  _Please, Suzaku, don't let me be right..._

"What do we do, Chichiri?!" Chiriko searched their surroundings, his head swiveling back and forth as he tried to make sense of the feeling he'd had and the monk's ominous words. The woods stretched as far as he could see to either side of the road, the uniform spread of trees broken only by the sparkle of sunlight in small, snow-bound clearings, and fallen logs half-covered by snow drifts. Birds continued to trill and sing, oblivious to the panic surging through him. He latched onto Chichiri's cold hand in both of his own and squeezed hard. "We have to find everyone, Chichiri! We have to help them..."

"I know, Chiriko, no da," Chichiri replied, dropping the silly tone from his voice. "I'll try to locate Miaka, na no da." He let his eyes drift closed as he threw off the restraints on his power that he'd been maintaining since arriving in Hokkan. By unmasking his chi, he was taking a huge risk–the Seiryuu could easily track him down–but he pushed the thought aside. He had no choice; he had to find the rest of the Shichiseishi, and quickly.

A calming warmth flooded Chichiri's body. A soft, reddish light painted the insides of his eyelids as he focused on finding Miaka's life force. Just as before, when he'd reached out to Suzaku to pinpoint Miaka's whereabouts when she'd tried to drown herself, he found himself transported. This time, it was to a narrow trail leading up the side of a snowy mountain. Chichiri looked around, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. To the south, in the valley below, he could see the squatty shapes of buildings and the tell-tale ribbon of the Touran's thick city wall peeking from under the blanket of snow.  _Is this Mount Koku, no da?_  he thought as he scrutinized his surroundings. Churned-up snow and myriad prints–some made by booted feet, some made by huge, clawed bare feet–disturbed the pristine snow cover. The tangle of tracks moved upward toward what looked to be a relatively flat outcropping just out of his view. A thin column of grayish smoke rose skyward from what could only be a fire somewhere near the summit. The cold breeze that had been so prevalent that morning had calmed almost to nothing. An almost unnatural stillness dominated the scene. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to see Chiriko staring up at him.

"Chi-chichiri?" The young scholar's brow furrowed as he watched the monk return to awareness. He'd never seen Chichiri use his powers like that before. The energy radiating from him was at once comforting and frightening. "Did you find Miaka?" There was no reply. "Chichiri?"

Reining the horse around the way they had come, Chichiri urged it into a full gallop. Whether it was truly Mount Koku or not, Chichiri thought, Miaka was there, he could feel it. They had to go.

\- o - o - o -

Tasuki took a deep breath of the cold morning air, letting it out as a great blast of fog that dispersed quickly in the light breeze. Putting a boot into the ornate metal stirrup, he grabbed the high pommel of his saddle and hoisted himself up. The horse beneath him snorted and swayed as he settled himself. "'Ey, Mitsukake," he said as the big man swung himself up and into the saddle of his own mount, "yah don't think anybody can actually read th' shit on that monument, do yah?"

The monument to Genbu Gurban had told them about had been an absolute bust in Tasuki's opinion. He might not be able to read, but whatever that was, it wasn't words. He was convinced that the "writing" on the monument was merely glorified scribbling set in stone. The characters looked nothing like the elegant, flowing script Chichiri had produced the night he'd had the monk write to Kouji for him. And the fact that no one else they'd asked could read it either only affirmed his belief. Still, that one woman they'd asked about it did say that a group of people had inquired about the monument the day before.

Mitsukake glanced at Tasuki, the trailing ends of his headband fluttering in the breeze. "Someone asked about it yesterday. We should look into it as well." Tama-neko pushed his head out of the collar of Mitsukake's robe. His nose wiggled and his ears swiveled back and forth as he watched the people bustling to and fro between the nearby market stalls.

Tasuki snorted, a misty puff of breath escaping his lips. "'S a fuckin' waste, if yah ask me." He put his hand to his brow in an attempt to block some of the bright sun bouncing off the glittering snow cloaking the whole of Touran. The snowfall had ended sometime during the night, leaving only a crisp and nearly cloudless blue sky. Where were they headed anyway? The woman who'd mentioned the group inquiring after the inscription had said two of them waited for a third member to return after a notoriously shady man offered to tell them about the monument. She said she later saw them head deeper into Touran, but she didn't know where they had gone. And then, without a firm direction to even begin their search, Mitsukake had suggested they retrieve their horses from the stable near Inami's Garden. He growled. It was like looking for a needle in a fucking haystack.

"Agh!" Tasuki gasped for air as an unseen force constricted around his heart. Pain, white-hot and searing, shot through Tasuki's system, forcing the breath from his lungs. He doubled over in his saddle. His horse whinnied loudly, stamping its hooves and shaking its head. Clouds of mist billowed from its flared nostrils. He clutched at his chest, twisting his fingers into the thick green felt of his robe. The feeling fled as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a vertigo and an emptiness he'd never experienced before. He looked to Mitsukake. The big healer's drawn brows and wide eyes mirrored Tasuki's own expression. "What th' hell did I just feel?" Tasuki breathed. "Did'ja feel that? What th' fuck was that?" The longer Mitsukake held his gaze without speaking, the faster the panic rose in his gut. "What th'  **fuck**  did I feel just now? Mitsukake?!"

"I don't know," Mitsukake replied. Something was very wrong. He looked around, dark blue eyes darting from face to face in the crowd of market-goers. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed out of place. People bustled from stall to stall, buying, selling, and haggling just as they had when they'd arrived back at the market that morning. No one seemed to have felt what he and Tasuki had just moments before. His brow furrowed even deeper. "I don't know."

_What th' **fuck was** that?!_ Tasuki thought, growling aloud. He turned this way and that, his head whipping back and forth. At every turn, shoppers calmly went about their business. Why were he and Mitsukake the only ones who felt it? The pit of his stomach pitched and yawed, the panic churning with the vertigo until he felt sick. It was like he was again on the ship to Hokkan. Eyes widening, his breath hitched in his throat.  _Chiri..._

A faint flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and Tasuki again put his hand to his forehead.  _Wha?_ Squinting through the sun reflecting off the snow-cover, he scanned the market and immediate area, but found nothing. He widened his search to the rooftops.  _Where?_ There was still no sign of what caught his eye. His heart thundered against his ribs. He twisted in his saddle as he scrutinized mountain ranges surrounding the city, clouds of anxious breath pouring from his lips.  _Where is it?!_ A thin grayish column of smoke, not much darker than the sparkling white landscape it emanated from, rose from the top of a craggy mountain at least one hundred fifty, maybe two hundred li, north of Touran. His mouth went dry. That was where the feeling had come from, he just knew. "There," he intoned, pointing to the spot. "It's there. We 'ave t' go." Reining his horse around hard, Tasuki raced off in the direction of the mountain, Mitsukake following close behind.

\- o - o - o -

A lone cloud of breath escaped Tasuki's mouth as he came to a stop at the top of the path. The crunch of his boots in the snow seemed much too loud as it echoed and reechoed off the surrounding mountains. The entire climb up the mountainside had been tense and silent. None of them–not Mitsukake, not Chiriko, not Chichiri, and certainly not himself–had said anything beyond a few cursory words of direction. Even the relief he felt at seeing that the healer, the scholar, and especially the monk were safe and unharmed did little to alleviate the anxiety swirling in his mind.

"We're here," Tasuki said, his eyes wide and his brows drawing closer and closer together as he took in the scene before him. Nuriko lay in the snow, still and unmoving, the black felt robe he'd been wearing nowhere to be seen. Draped over him was Miaka. Tasuki couldn't quite see her face as it was pressed into Nuriko's shoulder, but he could hear muffled sniffling. Tamahome knelt in the snow next to the priestess and courtier. His shoulders were slumped so much that he looked to Tasuki to be only half as tall as he should be. A pair of ancient coffered bronze doors set into the summit loomed like sentinels over the priestess and her two seishi. Nearby, a massive boulder of grayish-black stone sat, ringed by a slipshod halo of jagged and broken chunks. Judging by the lack of snow dusting it and the shallow depression devoid of snow cover before the two doors, the giant crumbling stone had recently been moved. A few paces farther on, in a tumult of footprints, trodden snow, and slush, someone else, someone Tasuki had never seen before, lay prostrate and motionless. The dread that had invaded Tasuki's gut in Touran writhed within him as he returned his attention to Miaka and Tamahome. Neither one had moved nor given any indication that they'd heard him at all. In the silence of the mountaintop, only her quiet cries and the staccato pound of Tasuki's heart against his ribs cut through the oppressive stillness.

"Tamahome!" Tasuki fought to swallow the acrid lump forming in the back of his throat as the fighter slowly and silently rose. "What's wrong with Nuriko?" At Tamahome's feet, Tasuki could see a rosy haze nearly the same color as Miaka's robe tinging the snow beneath Nuriko's supine body. A familiar coppery scent suffused the air, just below the crisp cold of the snowpack. His eyes widened even further. He'd experienced the same thing when that kid got hit by the cart the day before.  _Blood..._ Panic squirmed in his veins. "Tell us!" He stared at the tainted snow, only barely registering Tamahome turning to face him. Blood, crimson and fresh, welled up from under the snow cover, coating the soles of the fighter's boots and spreading into his bootprints. As Tamahome covered the few paces separating them, Tasuki watched the smeary red of each print begin creeping into the white of the surrounding drifts, turning each a differing tint of pink.

Tears streamed down Tamahome's cheeks as he stopped in front of Tasuki. His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes. "He challenged one of the Seiryuu Seven," he whispered, his voice sounding like a rusty hinge in the stillness. "And then moved the boulder blocking the shrine door." He reached out a shaking hand and rested it on Tasuki's robe-clad shoulder. "Just before we got here."

"That's..." Tasuki stared at Nuriko unblinking. There was so much blood.  _That feelin' in Touran..._ It soaked what was left of Nuriko's shredded silk robe.  _It... it was him..._ Oxidizing scarlet caked Nuriko's hair and tracked rivulets down his slack face. "That's nuts..." Gashes and cuts, slashes and punctures dotted the courtier's exposed chest like gaping crimson maws.  _It was him dyin'..._ The unspoken words squeezed the air from Tasuki's lungs and tightened around his hammering heart.  _No... No, 'e can't..._  "Idiot!" he snarled, a vicious noise that crawled up from the deepest pit of his stomach. "Why'dja do it?!" He threw himself forward, fangs bared. "What's th' fuckin' point o' yah gettin' yourself killed?! Fer what?!" He shoved Tamahome backward, trying to get past him, only to be shoved back himself. "Yah fuckin' coward! Get up!" he screamed, the anger, the betrayal, the sadness tearing from his throat as surely as he tore at Tamahome's robe to get at Nuriko's still body. "You get up fer them right now! Get th' fuck up, I said! Get up!"

Chichiri reached up and slowly removed the mask from his face. Eye wide, his lips parted as he watched Tasuki rage for a moment before turning his gaze to Nuriko.  _Nuriko..._ That was what he had felt; he'd felt Nuriko's life force flare through their bond as celestial warriors just as the mortal wound had been struck. He tightened his grip on the shaft of his shakujou until his knuckles showed white against his alabaster skin. Again; it had happened again. Someone else had been killed due to his failure. How could he have let this happen?

"Wait a minute." Tasuki abruptly stopped his struggle with Tamahome and smirked to himself. It was so simple; why hadn't he thought about it before? He turned and walked to Mitsukake. The crunch of his footfalls echoed around the summit. He leaned his elbow on the big healer's shoulder. "Mitsukake, we need yah." He turned to look back at where Nuriko lay. His eyes burned and he blinked to clear the undulating red-and-purple blur the courtier had become. "Use yer power t' help this bastard out an' put 'im back together again."

_Nuriko..._ Mitsukake set his jaw and swallowed hard around the lump rising in his throat. He'd arrived too late to save another life. He'd sworn to himself, and to Suzaku, when Shouka had died in his arms a second time, that he'd never allow that to happen again. He'd never let another person he cared for suffer, and he'd failed. The pain he heard in Tasuki's tone and felt in the slight tremble that ran through the redhead's body wrenched at his heart. He couldn't face him. He couldn't look Tasuki in the eye knowing that he was powerless, that he had betrayed everyone: Tasuki, Miaka, and especially Nuriko.  _Nuriko..._ Mitsukake felt Chiriko's small hand clutch at his larger one and he squeezed back.

Tasuki chuckled. "What a phoney," he spat. "'E may 'ave Tamahome fooled, but 'e doesn't fool me one bit."  _Yah damn bastard, gettin' everybody all worked up,_ he thought.  _Once yer healed, yah gotta lotta explainin' t' do..._ No one moved or spoke. The smirk on Tasuki's lips slowly twisted into a grimace and the knowing chuckle began to take on a hysterical edge. He grabbed the heavy felt of Mitsukake's robe's lapels. "What th' fuck're yah waitin' for?!" he growled. "Hurry up an' heal 'im!" Still, the big healer didn't move. He didn't even look Tasuki in the eye. If anything, Mitsukake seemed to flinch away. His eyes stayed clamped shut and his brows furrowed so tightly his eyebrows seemed to be as one.  _No... Yah hafta..._ Tasuki's vision quivered and the tremor in his hands got worse. More tears filled his eyes until Mitsukake's face was nothing but a roiling blob of saffron, violet, and tan. "Yah can do it, can'tcha? Mitsukake? Yah can help 'im, can'tcha?" Once more, Mitsukake refused to move or respond.  _No... Please..._ Teardrops began to slide down Tasuki's cold cheeks, carving scalding rivers all the way to his chin. His jaw trembled and he ground his teeth together to stop it. "Yah can't help?" he forced out. He strained to keep the threatening sob at bay. "Yah can't he-he-" A cry, forlorn and anguished, spilled from his lips as he buried his face in Mitsukake's robe. "It doesn't make sense! 'E was just 'ere! Yesterday! 'E was so strong an' full o' life." His voice trembled until it broke into a strangled series of sobs. As he wept, he felt the weight of the healer's hand light on his shoulder. Fresh hot tears welled up, spilling down his face only to be absorbed by the indigo felt in his grip.

Tama-neko mewed softly as he poked his head out of Mitsukake's robe, just below where Tasuki held the garment's thick fabric fast. The cat's pointed ears drooped as he took in the almost tangible sadness and grief rolling off of Tasuki in waves. He reached out with a small paw and placed it on the redhead's robe-clad chest.

"He's not dead." Miaka's muffled voice cut through Tasuki's sobs. "He isn't. Nuriko isn't dead." She lifted her head from Nuriko's chest to glare defiantly at her Warriors. Tears flowed in rivers down her cheeks from her red-rimmed and puffy eyes. "He's not dead! He can't be!" she cried, her words shrill and angry. Still, even her vehemence couldn't hide the trembling of her jaw or the sharp furrow of her brow. Rising to her feet, the evidence of Nuriko's fate was lain bare. Streaks and spatters of maroon stained the front of her robe. The blood-soaked felt clung to her bare knees, leaving crimson smears on her skin as the material slowly peeled away. "Nuriko can't be dead! He can't!" She turned on her heel and sprinted off into the undisturbed snowdrifts beyond the sealed door in the summit.

"Miaka!" Tamahome called out and bounded after her.

Chichiri allowed his mask to dissipate as he dropped his hand back to his side. The sound of Miaka's retreating sobs and the quietening crunch of Tamahome's boots joined the bouncing echoes of Tasuki's cries in a warbling round-robin of sorrow. He took a deep breath and let it out in a slow exhale of mist that disappeared not an arm's length above his head. They should never have split up, not when he knew the Seiryuu were also in pursuit of the Shinzahou. The Seiryuu Seven were too powerful of opponents to let any one of the Suzaku take them on without the entire complement of warriors there to help. He'd seen and felt that for himself in Kutou when he, Miaka, and Tasuki had tried to retrieve  _The Universe of the Four Gods._ And yet,  **he'd**  chosen to do it;  **he'd**  been the one who had decided to put the safety of the entire group at risk.

Chichiri glanced at Tasuki as he started toward Nuriko's body. The crunch of his own soft steps in the packed-down snow and the jangle of his shakujou added yet another layer of sound to the stifling atmosphere. He shook his head, his long bangs bobbing with the movement. It was his fault. Nuriko's death was on his hands. How could he have let his problems with Tasuki dictate decisions that should have been made with the best interest of the priestess in mind, not his own? How could he have let himself throw sound strategic thinking to the wind, and for what? So he didn't have to search Touran with Tasuki? He exhaled, long and low. Nuriko was now another in a long line of those who had died because of his failures and inaction.

A trail of dark, reddish blotches in the snow interspersed with stumbling footprints caught Chichiri's eye and he followed it with his gaze. At the end of the tracks lay the corpse of a hulking brute of a man. He lay in a heap in the churned-up snow, his cloudy, lifeless eyes staring toward the scarred and tarnished bronze doors in the rockface. The man's tongue lolled from his mouth, showing off wickedly pointed teeth. Matted, grayish hair peeked out from under the man's worn and frayed clothing, and scars crisscrossed what skin Chichiri could see. Dark and drying blood coated the man's left hand, staining his fingers and what looked to be claws a deep maroon. The monk frowned. This beast-man could only be the Seiryuu Warrior that had killed Nuriko. But, if that were so, why hadn't any of the other Seiryuu Shichiseishi arrived to continue the fight? Why hadn't they come to avenge this one's death, as they had with Amiboshi? Why couldn't he feel even the hint of any Seiryuu life forces? It seemed as if none of the rest of the dragon god's chosen were anywhere in the immediate area.

Chichiri turned his focus back to Nuriko's still form. This death wouldn't be the end of it or even the worst that they'd encounter, of that he was certain. The Shinzahou was yet to be found, the remaining Seiryuu were still out there, and Kounan was still under threat from Kutou's armies. He came to a stop next to the courtier. Letting out a low sigh, a stream of foggy breath poured from Chichiri's mouth.  _I'm sorry,_ he thought. _I'm so sorry..._ The brass rings of his shakujou tinkled as he took a seat on the uncorrupted snow near Nuriko's head. "We need to prepare Nuriko for his rebirth into the next life, no da," he said softly.

"Tasuki," Mitsukake murmured. No matter how he himself may feel, he had to support the others through this. If he could do nothing else, he could at least do that. He took the redhead's shoulders and gently pushed him back a step. His heart broke as Tasuki finally looked up at him. The younger seishi just stared, the amber of his eyes all the more piercing against the bloodshot and glassy look of utter loss dominating his expression. Mitsukake mustered the most comforting smile he could, but given the way Tasuki's face mirrored his own emotions, he knew it was little more than a crooked, barely discernible curving of his lips. "We should see to Nuriko now."

"Nuriko..." A hiccuped sob escaped Chiriko's lips. Twisting his fingers tightly into Mitsukake's robe, he pressed his face into the indigo felt at the big man's side. "Nuriko..." he whimpered. Tears, salty and hot, poured unceasing down his face, soaking not only Mitsukake's robe but his own, down to the teal silk coat beneath.

"No..." Tasuki shook his head, slowly at first, then faster, until his fiery red bangs covered his face and stuck in wet clumps to his cheeks. "No..." He let go his death-grip on Mitsukake's lapels. "He ain't..." Taking a stumbling step back, he swayed on unsteady feet. Mitsukake reached out a stabilizing hand, but Tasuki only pushed it away. "H-he can't..." He turned his back on the healer, toward where Chichiri sat next to Nuriko's body.  _Nuriko..._ Another sob caught in his throat as he watched the monk take his prayer beads in hand and begin an invocation. Tears rolled forth anew, and he hung his head.  _Nuriko..._

Placing one hand on Chiriko's shoulder and one on Tasuki's, Mitsukake gently urged both men onward. "You can wait over by the cliff while Chichiri and I prepare Nuriko's body," he said. His heart ached at the sobs and the tremors he felt run through both the scholar and the redhead. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he had little doubt this wouldn't be the only time one of them wouldn't make it. Mitsukake glanced at the body of the Seiryuu Warrior laying a few paces from Nuriko. From Tasuki's dire condition after the mission to retrieve  _The Universe of the Four Gods_ and Tamahome's poisoning by kodoku, to Amiboshi's betrayal during the summoning ceremony, the slaughter of Tamahome's family by Suboshi, and Soi's destruction of their ship on the voyage to Hokkan, it was clear the Seiryuu were not about to allow them to summon Suzaku. Yet, all he could do was ensure his priestess and his fellow Warriors didn't fall apart, either physically or mentally, even with the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before another of their number fell. He patted each seishi's shoulder. "We'll gather everyone when it's time." Mitsukake watched as Tasuki nodded and lurched toward the doors set into the rocky cliff a few steps from Nuriko. The crunch of the redhead's boots did nothing to mitigate Chiriko's whimpers. Mitsukake glanced down at the young scholar as the boy stayed steadfastly attached to his robe. His lips twitched again into a rueful smile and he placed a hand on Chiriko's head before guiding him to Nuriko's side.

Chichiri tightened his grip on the cold jade beads of his necklace and dropped the usual silly tone from his voice. "Holy Suzaku, guardian of the south, guide this man as his journey in this mortal vessel comes to an end and his soul continues on the path of reincarnation," he breathed, his words little more than the mere movement of his lips. "Guide this man, your chosen seishi, through the dark night of death and into the bright sunlight of rebirth. Guide this man's soul, pure and unsullied, from the ending of this life and into the next." He quivered his shakujou in punctuation of his prayer. The light, silvery chime seemed somehow fitting, as if he was sending Nuriko's soul off with a beautiful, if somber, melody. "Holy Suzaku–" he began again, but the suddenly close swish of fabric, crunching of snow underfoot, and Chiriko's crying cut him off. He opened his eye.  _Mitsukake..._

"I didn't mean to interrupt." The healer knelt next to Nuriko in nearly the same spot as Miaka had when they'd arrived. His knees sunk into the pink-hued snow. He could feel the bloody slush begin to wick into the felt of his robe and his pants underneath, but he ignored it. The reality of death, he knew, was never clean. "I need to prepare Nuriko's body."

"Nuriko..." Chiriko whimpered as he looked on the courtier. Standing this close, the scholar could see the bluish tint to Nuriko's skin and the dark, bloodied holes in the side of his chest. A fresh wave of tears blurred Chiriko's vision, washing out the awful details in a watery amalgam of color. He seized Mitsukake's shoulder and gritted his teeth to fend off another sob.

_Why? Why'd this hafta happen?_ Tasuki stared unseeing into the nearly cloudless sky. He felt numb. The tears wouldn't stop, but he could barely feel them. Even the cold and wet of the snow under him seeping into the back of his robe and the seat of his pants seemed so far away.  _Why?_ With leaden fingers, he reached into his robe, into the pocket of his leather coat, and pulled out the heavy, warm weight of the bronze coin charm.  _The last thing I told 'em was for 'im t' fuck off. Why'd I say that? Why'd I yell at 'im?_  He closed his hand around it, its heft the only thing he could discern against his unfeeling palm.  _I didn' mean it. I didn't._ His tearful gaze drifted down to Mitsukake, Chiriko, and Chichiri as they huddled around Nuriko's body. He studied the monk, watching him as he shook his shakujou. The gentle sound of the brass rings tinkling floated to Tasuki's ears.  _I didn' mean it, Nuriko._ He closed his eyes and clenched his hand into a fist around the charm until he could feel the metal bite into his flesh.  _Yah gotta believe me..._

Mitsukake surveyed the damage done to Nuriko's body. The courtier's slender frame seemed so small lying in the rose-tinted, packed-down snow. His once-vibrant amethyst hair now looked dull and flat where it wasn't covered with blood. Minute white flecks amidst the rust-colored wounds on Nuriko's chest caught Mitsukake's attention.  _Bone,_  he thought. The Seiryuu Warrior's hand had penetrated the courtier's back, shattering ribs and rupturing organs as it passed through Nuriko's chest and emerged just below his heart. Mitsukake's brows furrowed. The pain Nuriko had endured before his death must have been agonizing. If only he had arrived at the mountain sooner. If only he could have done something... He shook his head. "All I can do is erase his wounds, and make him as beautiful as he always was," he said, almost more to himself than to anyone. He reached into his thick felt robe. Tama-neko pushed his furry head against the healer's big hand as if attempting to be of some comfort to the grieving seishi. Mitsukake paused to scratch the cat under the chin before slipping his hand into his silk coat. In the confines of the saffron-colored fabric, he retrieved the unassuming red earthenware jar Taiitsukun had given him after the failed summoning ceremony. Mitsukake removed the oiled leather lid and poured a small amount of the warm holy water into his hand. He could feel the power it contained as it pooled in his palm and slid through his cold, thick fingers.  _Nuriko..._  He took a breath and let the tingling energy of Suzaku's divine light flow through him. It welled up from deep inside himself, spreading through his body, to each limb, and finally to his liquid-filled hand. The familiar, warm pulsation of his character mark on his palm coming to life intensified the energy of the blessed water and he sprinkled it over Nuriko's body.

In the glow of Mitsukake's healing power, the droplets sparkled like prisms in the cold sunlight. The drops separated and spun, seemingly with a life of their own. The glittering curtain of water hovered for just a moment before, drop by drop, it drifted slowly earthward, engulfing Nuriko's entire form. The courtier's cobalt and ivory silk robe, shredded and ruined, began to mend itself, thread by thread. His deathly pale skin flushed with color once more. The darkened and dried blood, even the gaping wounds in his chest and on his shoulder, faded and closed before disappearing completely.

Chiriko clutched at Mitsukake's shoulder as he watched the holy water rain down. "It even...fixed his clothes," he whimpered, another wave of tears sliding down his face. "It looks like he's sleeping."

Replacing the jar's lid, Mitsukake slipped it back into an inner pocket in his silk coat. He looked down at Nuriko for a long moment. "Find Miaka," he said finally. "Let's get everyone together."

_No..._  Tasuki's lip quivered as he tried to hold back a fresh sob. Stinging tears welled up once more and flowed down his already wet face, dripping off his chin to be absorbed by the mossy green felt of his robe.  _Nuriko..._

Chichiri nodded and looked over his shoulder in the direction Miaka and Tamahome had run. His brow furrowed. Would Miaka be willing to accept that Nuriko was gone? He didn't know, but the only one he thought would be able to get through to her right now was Tamahome.  _Tamahome..._ He took a breath and pushed himself to standing. Snowflakes clung to the back of his robe and half-melted lumps of ice slid down his bare ankles and into his shoes. As Chichiri dusted himself off, his gaze wandered to Tasuki. The redhead sat slumped heavily against the rocky, snow-dusted cliff. His head was bowed, and his unruly hair obscured his face. Even if keeping his distance from Tasuki was the best thing for their mission and, ultimately, himself, seeing grief swallow the redhead whole stabbed at Chichiri's heart. He didn't want it to be this way; he had never wanted it to be this way. But, it was his fault; he had killed Nuriko as surely as the Seiryuu Warrior had, and he'd wounded Miaka and the rest of the Shichiseishi. The burden of guilt he carried hung from his neck like an anchor: ponderous and suffocating, but his alone to bear.

"You're hurting me!"

Mitsukake, Chiriko, and Chichiri turned to see Tamahome pulling a reluctant Miaka by the arm back to where Nuriko lay. She struggled against his grip, stumbling through the snowdrifts as he dragged her almost bodily along. "Let go of me, Tamahome! Let me go!" she cried, shattering the mournful silence that had descended. The echoes and reechoes of her shrill command were jarring. Tears stained her flushed cheeks and she sank to her knees when Tamahome released her.

"Look at Nuriko, Miaka," Tamahome said.

Miaka shrank away from his order and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. The trailing ends of the ribbons binding her auburn hair fluttered with the violence of the movement. "No."

"Look at him," he demanded. Tears began filling Tamahome's eyes as Miaka refused again, this time doubling over on her hands and knees until she was nearly prostrate on the ground. "Are you going to let his death amount to nothing?!" His voice cracked as he shouted at her, pouring forth all his anger and sadness. His harsh words bounced off the distant mountaintops, only to return more discordant and more severe. "What do you think Nuriko sacrificed his life for, anyway? You! You, more than anyone, should understand what he succeeded in doing for us!" Tamahome stopped abruptly as Mitsukake placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Miaka," Mitsukake murmured. He walked to the priestess' side, the snow crunching under his soft-soled shoes. Kneeling next to her, he squeezed her shoulder gently, willing as much compassion and understanding as he could into that mere touch. "I've given Nuriko his beauty back. Won't you come and look at him?" Mitsukake watched Miaka rub at her tear-streaked face with the back of her bare hand. He could feel the tremor of an unreleased sob go through her. "I know how sad you are, and how terribly lonely you feel. We don't expect you to feel better any time soon. No one here does, because we all feel the same." Mitsukake looked up at Nuriko lying still in the snow.  _Nuriko..._ Another lump began to form in the back of this throat as he spoke. "There's nothing to be done about the grief." He could feel the salty sting of tears begin to fill his eyes and he tried to blink them away. "I wish we had the time. The time it takes to heal." He clasped her shoulder tighter, as much for her sake as for his. "But, right now, we don't. You don't have that time." He felt Miaka shift and he glanced down at her again. She had sat up, her bloodshot gaze now directed at Nuriko's body. Moving his hand to the top of Miaka's head, Mitsukake continued. "I know it'll be hard; grieve as much as you need to, but keep moving forward. I want Nuriko to rest in peace now." He'd failed and he would carry that knowledge with him until the day he, too, met his death. But, they couldn't shy away or falter if their mission was to succeed. They had been given a charge, a sacred task to complete, a duty Nuriko had already fulfilled. "Everyone has a purpose in life. Everyone is born to do something only they can do. To the very end, Nuriko lived to fulfill his role as one of the Suzaku Seven."

Chichiri turned his eye back to Nuriko. "He does look satisfied, no da."

"Nuriko," Miaka whispered. She scrubbed at her cheeks with the back of her sleeve and sniffled. Mitsukake stood and held out his hand to her. She took it without argument, allowing him to help her up, and staggered toward where the courtier lay.

As Miaka came to a halt next to him, Chichiri spoke. "It's time to say goodbye to him, no da."

A faint noise of assent escaped Miaka's lips. She started as a pair of warm hands took hers in theirs. Glancing down, she watched Tamahome slip Nuriko's bracelets into them before gently pulling away. Sunlight gleamed off the golden edges and ivory enamel inlay of the holy items Taiitsukun had bestowed upon the courtier.

"You should take his bracelets, Miaka," Tamahome said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think Nuriko would have wanted you to."

Tasuki wiped the tears from his face as well as he could. Slipping the coin charm back into his pocket, he watched Tamahome and Mitsukake begin ferrying the chunks of stone from the broken boulder to Nuriko's side. The rhythmic crack of rock hitting rock as the fighter and the healer stacked piece after piece rang out across the summit, swallowing all other sound. Tasuki's brow furrowed. He knew what they were doing: they were building a cairn. The rest of the group was ready to let Nuriko go. An emptiness, not unlike what he'd felt in Touran when the last of Nuriko's chi passed through him, settled in his chest. Tasuki didn't want to bury his confidant, his friend–especially in a desolate place like this–but what choice did he have? He gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet. They would pay for this; the Seiryuu would pay dearly for this. He'd make sure of it.

_Eh?_ A hint of red, too bright to be Nuriko's now-oxidized blood, caught Tasuki's eye and he moved toward it. Almost hidden under the footprints and slush, lay a piece of crimson material. He swept the clods of snow away and picked up the damp item. His hand tightened around the wet silk bag. Through the fabric he could feel the tell-tale lumpy coil of Nuriko's braid. A sob crept up his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it. Taking a calming breath and letting it out in a long, misty column, he made his way to where the others continued construction of Nuriko's grave. "Look." He held out his palm. "This's th' parcel with 'is hair inside o' it. We should bury it with 'im." Miaka nodded and Tasuki bent down to place the small package on Nuriko's unmoving chest. "Was 'e a woman? Was 'e a man? I couldn't figure th' guy out. No matter what 'e was, 'e was cool."

Miaka nodded. "Uh-huh. He wasn't defined as a man or a woman." Wiping away the last of her tears, a small smile graced her lips. "Nuriko was...Nuriko."

When the last stone was set in place, Tamahome snapped a dead, barkless branch from one of the stunted trees clinging to the mountaintop. He wedged it into the top of the mound, pulling at it to make sure it was secure. No one spoke for a long time as the seishi and priestess stood gazing at the completed gravesite, each alone with their thoughts. After what seemed both an instant and an eternity, they turned, one by one, to focus their attention on the scarred bronze doors Nuriko had sacrificed himself to unbar.

Tasuki glanced back over his shoulder at Nuriko's grave. Sunlight glittered off the snow around it like a blanket of gems. The corners of his mouth curved into a tiny smile.  _Yah done good, Nuriko. Yah done good._ His eyes burned as more tears threatened to form. Blinking them away, the courtier's advice repeated in his head once more:  _"Do you love him?" "You owe it to yourself and to him to figure it out." "Some of us just weren't meant to find love and keep it, you know." "That's why it's so important to say something when you do."_  Tasuki turned back to the balance of the Shichiseishi in time to see Tamahome pull open one of the ancient doors. The squealing scrape of metal on stone pierced the silence. He winced as the grating noise echoed back and forth across the mountain ranges. Once the ringing had stopped, Tasuki threw a sidelong glance at Chichiri where the monk stood next to Mitsukake. He didn't know what the future held–for their mission, for Kounan, for anyone, including himself–but he would be damned if he would let things remain the way they had been. If any one of them could die at any moment, if death could come this easily, time was running out. Pursing his lips into a determined line, he followed the balance of the Shichiseishi and his priestess into the inky blackness beyond the open bronze door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 9
> 
> **Datura** → (Datura stramonium) a toxic, herbaceous flowering plant used in Traditional Chinese Medicine as an an anesthetic and a sedative  
>  **Myrrh** → (Commiphora myrrha) a tree resin used in Traditional Chinese Medicine to heal wounds, reduce swelling, and as a pain reliever  
>  **Ginger** → (Zingiber officinale) fleshy rhizome used in Traditional Chinese Medicine for a range of ailments, from frostbite to dysentery; in this case used for pain reduction and as an anti-inflammatory  
>  **Buuz** → pocket-shaped dumplings filled with meat, usually mutton; similar to khuushuur, but steamed instead of fried  
>  **Borts** → traditional Mongolian dried and preserved meats, usually horse; when dry, these meats are broken into small pieces or ground into a fine powder for use in food dishes during the harsh winter months  
>  **Laozi** → also romanized as Lao Tzu; famous Chinese philosopher and reputed founder of philosophical Daoism; the seminal Daoist work, the Daodejing, is attributed to him; an almost mythical figure, he is considered a deity in religious Daoism, and is said to have lived any time between the sixth and fourth centuries BCE  
>  **Nuthatch** → (Sitta europaea) Eurasian Nuthatch, also Wood Nuthatch; a small arboreal songbird native to much of Europe and northern central Asia  
>  **Pommel** → the raised portion at the front of the seat of a saddle, sometimes topped by a knob or horn


	10. Age of Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remaining members of the Shichiseishi head for Sairou sans Miaka, and the tensions between Tasuki and Chichiri once again boil over.

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Tasuki's neck and into the collar of his leather coat. The feeling sent a tickle down his spine and he twitched. Reaching up, he swiped an arm across his forehead. Strands of his fiery hair stuck to his face and the bridge of his nose. He glared at them for a moment, his eyes crossing in the effort. With a pronounced frown, Tasuki turned his attention back to the road ahead. He had long since discarded the green felt robe he'd worn throughout most of Hokkan, though he was beginning to think he should remove his coat, too. The transition between the hilly woodlands of southern Hokkan and the rocky badlands of northern Sairou was stark. The immense stands of ash, pine, and oak that had dominated much of the landscape had disappeared at least half a day ago. In their place, wind-eroded pillars of rock, a washed-out orangy beige in the late afternoon glare, sprang like a forest of limbless tree trunks from the rocky rim of a vast, sandy basin to the right of the road. Spiny, scrubby bushes poked out from between the cast-off boulders and rubble at the foot of each isolated column. Craggy ledges jutted from the otherwise sheer walls of a series of cliffs on their left, hemming them into a narrow, winding pass. Thick, dusty heat invaded Tasuki's nostrils with every breath. "Th' scenery changes drastically once yah leave Hokkan, don't it?" he muttered.

Chichiri glanced back over his shoulder at Tasuki from where he rode a few lengths ahead. His bangs swayed back and forth with his mount's rolling gait. "Only a little ways further and we'll be entirely surrounded by the desert, no da."

"Tamahome?" Chiriko shifted in his spot behind Mitsukake as he looked over at the fighter. "Are you certain Miaka will be coming to meet us soon?"

Tamahome's brows furrowed and the corner of his lip quirked. "Well, yeah. Sure. That's what Taiitsukun told me." His expression grew darker and more concerned as the five seishi continued down the road. Pursing his lips into a determined line, Tamahome yanked hard on the reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt. The animal reared back on its hind legs with a piercing scream.

"Wha?" Tasuki's head shot around at the sound and he brought his own mount up short. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chichiri, Mitsukake, and Chiriko do the same.

"Tamahome?" Chiriko said, watching the fighter turn his horse around the way they had come. With a sharp "ha," the compact, tawny horse leapt forward from its dead stop. A choking cloud of dust rose from the animal's hooves and myriad pebbles skittered from its path. Tamahome leaned forward in his saddle, his dark navy hair fluttering about his face. "Sorry, everyone!" he shouted over his shoulder. "You'll have to go on ahead without me!"

As the thunder of hoofbeats faded and Tamahome's retreating figure disappeared around a bend in the road, Tasuki raised an eyebrow. "What's with 'im, 'uh?"

"I'm sure that Tamahome is worried about Miaka," Mitsukake said, turning to look at Tasuki before urging his horse forward.

"Shouldn't we go after him?" Chiriko glanced up at the healer before looking off toward the slowly dispersing dust cloud. He wiped at the sweat that had settled just under his lower lip with the back of a small hand. "Splitting up at this stage could be dangerous."

Chichiri, too, gazed off toward the way they had come. His perpetual smile dwindled to a mere curving of his lips as his brows creased. He was silent for a long moment before he reined his horse around and continued on. "Tamahome can look out for himself, and Miaka is with Taiitsukun, no da. What we have to do is make our way into Sairou as quickly as possible and locate the second Shinzahou, no da. We can wait for Miaka and Tamahome to join us there, na no da."

Tasuki took one last, long look at the heat shimmer rising off the trade road as it stretched out behind them. With a shake of his head, he too urged his horse around and followed after.

The rhythmic clip-clop, clip-clop of the remaining horses' hooves filled the silence, echoing off the surrounding rock. It had been three days since they had set out from Mount Koku for the Hokkan-Sairou border, stopping briefly in Touran to procure a few supplies and retrieve Miaka's mislaid pack. No one had spoken more than a few stilted sentences in the hundreds of li they'd traveled; Nuriko's death was still too fresh in everyone's minds.

Tasuki's brow furrowed. _Nuriko..._ He missed him so much. He felt strange and vulnerable without Nuriko there to laugh and joke with. It felt like a piece of himself had been stripped away, leaving behind a gaping hole. And no matter what he did, or said, or thought, there was nothing that would fix it, or change it, or make it better. The familiar lump crept once more into the back of Tasuki's throat. He scowled so deeply that his fangs poked out at the corners of his mouth. Mitsukake was right, though: he had to set his grief aside and attend to what he could do. Still, Tasuki didn't think he would ever be able to forget. He could still see Nuriko's lifeless, broken body lying in the blood-laced snow whenever he closed his eyes. He could still smell the stench of copper and feel the burning sting of tears whenever he thought about it. Even if he might be able to focus on his sworn duty for now, the guilt and anger he felt seized his heart in a grip so tight that he didn't think it would ever loosen. If he had been there, Nuriko might not be dead now. Nuriko might still be with them, not up on that desolate mountaintop, buried in a makeshift grave of rock and snow. If he had known, Tasuki would never have let the courtier walk into that slaughter by himself. He gritted his teeth. Damn the Seiryuu. Their deaths were the only thing that would put his heart at ease, and if he had to, he'd send the entirety of the Seiryuu Seven to the afterlife by his own hand. Tasuki took a deep breath and let it out in a slow, calming exhale. As appealing as the thought of revenge was, there was precious little he could do about it at the moment.

Still, it wasn't fair. Chichiri had said that they couldn't wish for Suzaku to resurrect Nuriko because the courtier would have been dead too long for his body to still be viable. Tasuki grimaced as the fight at the sanctuary on Mount Koku came back to his mind. A cold deeper and more biting than even the snowy mountaintop had engulfed them the moment they'd set foot beyond the ancient bronze doors Nuriko had sacrificed everything to open. Mere steps into the cave, those selfsame doors had slammed shut of their own accord, plunging them all into stygian blackness. Skeletons, some still clad in threadbare robes and rotten boots, their sightless eyes leering up from the dusty cave floor in the flickering flame of his tessen, sent a chill down Tasuki's spine. And he wasn't about to admit that goosebumps had risen on his arms and hairs had stood up on the back his neck at the disembodied voice that had threatened to kill them all as thieves. Even after ethereal orbs of pale green light had illuminated the cave, showing two figures that had coalesced from a swirl of glowing mist for who they were–Hikitsu and Tomite, Warriors of Genbu–Tasuki still couldn't stop the tingle of fear that had licked at the pit of his gut. How were they supposed to fight ghosts? None of his and Tamahome's attacks had been able to affect the seishis' bodiless forms, not even Tasuki's divine flame. Thieves they had been pronounced and, as thieves, executed. Miaka begging on hands and knees, then allowing herself to be tested the way she had–frozen solid, for Suzaku's sake–was the only reason they hadn't all met their deaths then and there. He didn't even want to think about what would have happened had they not been able to prove their intentions were true. _An' now th' Shinzahou's gone,_ he thought. Tasuki's fingers tightened around the leather reins.

After Nuriko had given his life to unbar that cave, after they'd managed to persuade those two long-dead Genbu seishi to trust them, after coming so far and struggling so hard, the Shinzahou had been snatched right from Miaka's hands. The arrival of that wolf seemed much too convenient to Tasuki. And he didn't know if he liked the idea of leaving Miaka in Hokkan, even if she was being taken care of by Taiitsukun. It had seemed a bit weird to him that when Tamahome returned from looking for Miaka, he'd said Taiitsukun had appeared and told them to go ahead to Sairou and leave retrieving the stolen Genbu Shinzahou until later. If she had been just hanging around, couldn't she have used her powers to stop that damn wolf and get it back? Then again, he thought, the old sand witch had never done anything for them that they could do themselves.

Tasuki thought again of the two Stars of Genbu they'd faced. Those seishi had been tasked with guarding the Shinzahou, in spirit form, for two hundred years. They had a sacred duty to their priestess and their god, a specific reason to forgo the cycle of reincarnation. Perhaps that was why they were still so powerful, even after so much time. Why couldn't Nuriko do that? Why couldn't he rejoin their journey as a ghost? But, Tasuki thought, if Nuriko came back like that, what would his charge be? He didn't have to worry about Miaka's safety; their priestess still had Warriors alive to look after her. And they hadn't even summoned Suzaku yet, so there wasn't a Shinzahou to protect. If a soul, adrift in the mortal world, had no purpose, wouldn't it eventually become lost? Didn't lost souls become vengeful ghosts? What if Nuriko were doomed to wander the earth forever as a vengeful ghost? Tasuki glanced behind him as visions of otherworldly presences filled his mind. Didn't vengeful ghosts haunt people? Knowing Nuriko, scaring the shit out of Tasuki would be high on his priority list. Tasuki shuddered at the thought. Maybe it **was** better that Nuriko moved on to his next life.

Tasuki's gaze shifted to Chichiri's back. The late afternoon sunshine dusted the monk's long bangs, short-cropped hair, and ponytail with shifting golden highlights. A welcome gust of wind rippled Chichiri's kesa against his body. Tasuki let the hint of a sardonic chuckle escape his lips. He loved that back nearly as much as he hated looking at it. Chichiri hadn't spoken much during the trip–none of them had–but at least Chichiri wasn't actively avoiding Tasuki like he had been on the ride from Tomoru's village to Touran. What that meant exactly, Tasuki had no idea.

Chichiri wasn't making anything easy for him, Tasuki thought; that was certain. Mitsukake had told him, when they'd spent the night at Gurban's home in Touran, that the monk most likely did share his feelings. Tasuki pursed his lips. Of course Chichiri shared his feelings; it had been obvious that he was lying when Tasuki had confronted him. _Yah don't try t' fuck somebody then turn around an' say yah made a "mistake,"_ he thought. But, what was he supposed to do? Until Suzaku had been summoned, Tasuki doubted Chichiri would want anything to do with him–Mitsukake had said as much as well–and trying to jump into his bed so soon after Nuriko's death... Still, Nuriko had died in battle, performing his duty as a celestial warrior. It was a sobering thought: when the time came for **him** to lay down his life for Miaka, would he regret going into that good night without getting to show Chichiri just how much he loved him? He honestly didn't know. Tasuki scowled and shook his head. The sweat-soaked strands of hair stuck to his nose and forehead didn't budge. What he **did** know was that they needed to talk, about a great many things. He glanced up at where Mitsukake and Chiriko rode next to Chichiri. Though he'd told the big healer what was going on between the monk and himself, there was no way he wanted Chiriko hearing about it. The kid was too young to know about that sort of thing. Perhaps, Tasuki thought, once they'd arrived in Sairou, he and Chichiri could find a moment alone.

Tasuki took a deep breath and let it out as one long sigh. How long would they have to search for **this** Shinzahou, anyway? And where were they supposed to start looking? Since Taiitsukun hadn't told them they would even **have** to travel to Sairou, much less look for a **second** Shinzahou, he had no idea. He wasn't even sure where they were exactly. The guards at Touran's gates had told them, when they'd set out, to follow the trade road they were traveling until they reached the capital, but it was anyone's guess as to how long that would take. "Anybody know anythin' 'bout this country?" Tasuki asked.

"Oh, that's right."

Mitsukake glanced back over his shoulder at the young scholar clinging to his waist. The ends of the healer's headband waved in the puttering breeze. "What is it, Chiriko?"

"Before we left on our journey, I read a bit about Sairou in one of the tomes in the imperial library. I was searching for cultural and topographical information about Hokkan at the time, but I did come across a few things of interest."

Tasuki perked up at that. "Whad'd yah find?"

"Well, Sairou is much larger than Kounan, though Hokkan is larger still by far. Most of the country is situated on a vast plateau, and covered by desert, either rocky and arid, like we're traveling through now," Chiriko said, his blond topknot bobbing in time to the cadence of hoofbeats, "or sandy and nearly uninhabitable but for a handful of isolated lakes and oases. Being mostly desert, rainfall is scarce, but several rivers and rather elaborate irrigation systems supply a few fertile valleys."

"Chichiri," Mitsukake said, turning to the monk. "You've said before that you've been to Sairou. Do you know anything"

"I don't really have much to tell, no da." Chichiri shrugged. "When I passed through Sairou years ago, I spent a lot of that time just walking, no da."

Tasuki's gaze followed the undulating line of craggy rock walls bordering the pass as the conversation slacked off to silence. _Eh?_ Almost hidden by a rise in the trade road several li ahead, the faint yellowish glimmer of light off of a polished surface caught Tasuki's eye. _What's that?_ Brow furrowed, he put a hand to his forehead and squinted against the glare. It looked as if there were a series of shallow, parallel ledges protruding from a section of cliffs. He stared at that spot for a long time, trying to figure out what he was seeing. _What th' fuck?_ He scrubbed his knuckles across his eyes and looked again. Sure enough, the uniform rounded curves of clay tiles and the upturned eaves of a sweeping roofline were still there. "'Ey," Tasuki said, raising an eyebrow, "there's some kinda roof up ahead."

"A roof?" Chiriko leaned around Mitsukake's wide back and placed a small hand to his own sweat-sheened forehead. "Where?"

Tasuki urged his horse forward until he was alongside the healer and scholar's mount. He leaned over in his saddle, earning him a snort from the dark bay horse under him. "'S right there," he said, pointing off down the road.

Chiriko gripped Mitsukake's sweat-dampened saffron-colored coat with both small hands as he, too, leaned over. Scrunching one eye closed, he looked down Tasuki's outstretched arm. Each swaying step of his and Mitsukake's horse made it nearly impossible for him to make out at what Tasuki was pointing. Chiriko attempted to follow the redhead's finger as it bounced across the landscape for a few moments longer, but the movement did nothing but make him slightly nauseous. With a shake of his head, he straightened up. "I'm sorry, but I don't see what you're talking about, Tasuki."

With a growl, Tasuki straightened back up as well. "Stop movin' around, yah stupid horse!" Almost as if it had understood him, the animal shook its head and let out another loud, irritated snort. "Fuckin' asshole horse," he muttered. "Well," he turned back to Chiriko with a wry quirk to his lips, "it's there, 'bout ten li from 'ere. Never seen a roof stickin' outta a rock wall b'fore, though."

"It might be the façade of a temple or monastery, no da."

Tasuki looked over at Chichiri, a skeptical brow raised. "In th' side o' a cliff in th' middle o' fuckin' nowhere?" Chichiri turned to look at him across Mitsukake and Chiriko's horse. The monk's perpetually smiling mask, dotted with beads of sweat, revealed nothing. Tasuki's jaw tightened as he held Chichiri's gaze firm. Avoiding him now or not, that Chichiri hadn't shown him his true face since that night on the Shouryuu River still hurt.

"The people of Sairou are very pious, no da. Shrines, temples, and monasteries aren't an uncommon sight along the roads, no matter how heavily traveled, no da," Chichiri said, returning his attention to the roadway. "I spent a night or two at a good number of temples and monasteries during my wandering, and a lot of them were built into or on top of mountains, na no da."

Mitsukake glanced back and forth between Tasuki and Chichiri as both men looked away. His brow furrowed. "Perhaps we should stop. The monks there may be able to replenish our water supplies."

"That's a good idea," Chiriko agreed. "We don't know if there are any villages or towns between our current location and the capital. It would be prudent to refill our canteens and water the horses before continuing on."

"Sounds good t' me. 'S damn hot out 'ere." Tasuki leaned forward in his saddle. "Let's go!" His horse let out a loud whinny as it jumped forward from its previous plodding walk into a fast canter. The sharp three-beat rhythm of hoof strikes against the rock drowned out any reply.

\- o - o - o -

The clatter of hooves, the jangle of bronze fittings, and the crack of Tasuki's jade- and glass-beaded necklaces against each other accompanied the seishis' arrival. The tinny cacophony echoed and re-echoed off the carved rock façade until the narrow pass and the very air itself seemed to vibrate with sound.

"Whoa!" Tasuki pulled his mount up sharply, eliciting an irked grunt from the animal. It came to a stop, but not before it had stamped its hooves and shaken itself as if to throw the redhead from the saddle. "'Ey!" Clutching at the wooden pommel, Tasuki struggled to regain his balance. "What's yer fuckin' problem, yah damn horse?" he growled, his fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth as he steadied himself. The horse turned its head ever so slowly to look back over its shoulder, and gave him what could only be called a side-eyed glare. Brows drawn low, Tasuki scowled right back. "Try it again, I dare yah."

Glancing over at the test of wills between the redhead and his horse, Mitsukake shook his head. He brought his own mount to a more graceful halt as his gaze wandered over the monastery entrance. Stone balusters and handrails, not unlike the lacquered-wood versions he'd seen at the palace in Eiyou, edged a broad terrace set just above a series of wide, shallow stairs cut from the cliffside. Columns sculpted out of the rock and painted in shades of red, gold, blue, and white held up the largest, lower-most roof and formed a portico above the darkened doorway into the structure. His gaze swept upward, to the pagoda-like, parallel roofs emerging from the rock face. Massive square windows had been carved out above each section and inset with open-work lattice, allowing light and air into the monastery's interior. Behind him, he felt Chiriko shift as the scholar dismounted, slipping from the horse's back to the ground.

Chiriko landed with a muffled thud, the soles of his shoes too soft to make much noise against the roadbed. He brushed the dust kicked up from his descent off the hem and sleeves of his teal silk coat. Raising an eyebrow and cocking his head, he looked around. A good number of the glazed tiles composing the roofs were damaged or missing altogether. Portions of the open-work lattice of the windows had broken, creating gaping portals into the darkness beyond. Chips and gouges marred the surfaces of the columns, and small piles of rubble had begun to accumulate at their bases. The ornate paintwork was faded and had flaked off completely in some places. Hills of sand, probably blown in by the desert winds, peppered the porch and stairs. It seemed as if the monastery had been abandoned. "Chichiri," Chiriko said, his lips quirking into a frown. He glanced up at where Chichiri sat astride his own mount, also scrutinizing the building. "I don't think anyone has inhabited this monastery in quite some time."

A thoughtful hum was all the response Chichiri gave as he, too, dismounted. He patted his horse's iron-gray neck twice as he studied the façade. The monastery hadn't been abandoned for long, he could feel it. The aura surrounding the structure was still too saturated with chi. It was as if the monks who had called it home had just picked up and left. But why was the building in such disrepair? No lama or abbot that he'd ever met in his wandering had been anything but fastidious in the upkeep of their temple or monastery.

"Chichiri?" Mitsukake gave the monk a quizzical look as he stood on one ornate stirrup, swinging his leg over the hindquarters of his horse and to the ground. "Is everything alright?" The animal nickered softly before pushing its nose into the healer's shoulder, the bronze rings on its bridle jingling as it did so. Mitsukake scratched between the horse's ever-swiveling ears before caressing its chestnut-colored muzzle with one big hand.

_I shouldn't alarm anyone until I have a better idea of what's going on, no da,_ he thought. Giving the ramshackle façade one last look, Chichiri shook his head. He slid slender fingers under the cheek piece of the horse's bridle, and with a click of his tongue, led the animal to the stone balustrade. He tied the leather reins loosely to the railing and turned back to Mitsukake. "Depending on how long ago the monastery was abandoned, we may still be able to find water or other provisions inside, no da," he said, willing the smile back onto his mask. "We should take a look around, na no da."

"Whoa, hey! What're yah doin'?!"

Chichiri whirled around in time to see Tasuki's horse shake itself violently, throwing the redhead, in mid-dismount, to the ground with a bone-rattling crash and thud. Chichiri winced at the sound. Tasuki sprawled in an unceremonious heap on the roadway, his necklaces bunched at his throat. The hem of his leather coat was a rumpled mess, stuck halfway under his body. The ornate gold belt holstering his tessen lay across his nose, the embossed leather doing little to obscure the look of shock and utter loathing on his face. Chichiri watched as the horse leaned down ever so slowly and snorted in Tasuki's face. The redhead's hair, what hadn't been flattened by the belt, rippled in the wash of exhalation. Without so much as a backward glance, the animal trotted over to stand next to Chichiri's own tethered mount.

"OW!" Tasuki bellowed, struggling to sit up. "Yah mangy, psycho fucker!" He yanked the belt draped across his face back into place and grabbed for the handle of his diamond fan. "Get yer ass back 'ere! I'll turn yah int' marou mifen!"

"Tasuki!" Chiriko cried and rushed to his side. "Are you alright?"

Mitsukake left his own horse and hastened over, reaching Tasuki and Chiriko in a few long strides. "Are you injured?" He reached out a large hand to the angry redhead.

Tasuki sneered, his fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth. He eyed the horse warily and with as much malice and rancor as he could fit into one look. The animal turned its head at the commotion, the white of its eye a sinister contrast against its dark red-brown coat as it glared back over its shoulder. A long moment passed before, with a flick of its tail, it turned to nuzzle at Chichiri's horse beside it. Tasuki's eyes narrowed to slits, a deep growl rumbling up through his chest. Grudgingly, he released his grip on the tessen and grabbed Mitsukake's proffered hand. "No," he grumbled as the healer pulled him to his feet.

Chichiri let out a weary sigh. "If you're okay, Tasuki, we need to get moving, no da. We don't have the time to waste fooling around, na no da." Shaking his head, he started up the steps toward the portico and the swath of shadow cloaking the monastery door.

A deep scowl settled between Tasuki's brows, his eyes following Chichiri as the monk ascended. Was that why it had seemed like Chichiri hadn't been avoiding him as much for the last few days? Not because Chichiri might be thawing in his attitude toward him, but because the monk had truly written him–and how he felt–off as a nuisance? Tasuki was quiet for a long moment before he cast a last sidelong glance at his horse and moved to follow. "Fuckin' horse," he muttered.

His shoes making soft scratching noises on the sand-strewn steps, Chiriko fell in next to Tasuki. He looked up at the much taller seishi and cocked his head. "Why is your horse so angry with you?"

Tasuki snorted, his shoulders rising in a sharp shrug. "Damned if I know."

"Try to be more gentle with it," Mitsukake said. Securing his mount's reins to the stone balustrade near Chichiri's and Tasuki's horses, he gave the animal a parting scratch under the chin before climbing the steps himself. "Animals respond to kindness."

"I didn't barbecue th' fuckin' thing. How much 'kinder' d' yah want me t' be?"

A lopsided smile worked its way onto Chiriko's face, the first to do so in a long while, as he watched Mitsukake shake his head at Tasuki's irritation. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Maybe he and Mitsukake would get a chance to discuss their findings from the conversations they'd had in Touran. If they were fortunate, the healer had learned something of more use than he had. A faint hint of movement past Tasuki's shoulder caught Chiriko's attention. Slowing his steps, he squinted down the trade road the way they had come.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Chiriko?" Tasuki paused in his stride as well, and turned to the scholar.

Chiriko cocked his head. "I'm not sure."

"It looks like a dust cloud," Mitsukake said as he stopped next to Chiriko. "Someone may be riding this way."

"That's strange." Chiriko glanced up at Mitsukake before turning his gaze back to the growing tannish smear on the horizon. "We haven't seen anyone on the road in days." The scholar tucked his hands into the sleeves of his silk coat.

Tasuki snorted. "Fer a 'trade road,' yah'd think there'd be more people usin' it." He too looked toward the way they had come. Cocking his head, he squinted against the afternoon sun. The shapes of horses bearing riders undulated through the heat shimmer just ahead of the rising cloud. "Yep, they're riders alright. There's maybe fifteen of 'em..." _Huh?_ Spangles of light bounced across the riders' formation. Tasuki raised an eyebrow. _What th' hell?_

"It's them, no da."

Tasuki jerked his gaze to Chichiri, who now stood at the landing of the stairs staring out at the trade road. His perpetual smile had been replaced with a stern frown. "Wha-"

"Kutou soldiers, na no da."

Whipping his head back toward the approaching horsemen, Tasuki could now clearly see the tell-tale lamellar armor worn by Kutou's army. Glints of sunlight reflected off the soldiers' steel gray helmets and blue-trimmed cuirasses with each stride of their horses. His lips curled in a savage grimace, baring his fangs.

Chiriko's brows rose to his hairline. "How did they find us? I was certain we weren't followed when we left Touran."

Chichiri shook his head and looked down at the scholar. "I've been masking our life forces since we left Mount Koku, and I haven't felt anything since we entered Sairou, no da." Looking again toward the soldiers, his brow furrowed even deeper. "They must know about the other Shinzahou if they're here, no da," he said. "We have to get to the capital as soon as possible, na no da."

"But we don't know how far it is to the capital," Chiriko replied. He looked away, wringing his small hands. "I didn't think to make a map of Sairou while I had access to the imperial library. I'm so sorry." Mitsukake put a hand on the scholar's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Don't blame yourself, Chiriko no da." Chichiri looked back over his shoulder at the darkened doorway into the monastery. "Right now, we should get out of sight and wait for the Kutou forces to pass by, no da. We can't risk giving away our position to the enemy by engaging them, no da." He returned his attention to Chiriko and Mitsukake. "Once they've gone, we can continue on to the capital, na no da."

"But," Chiriko began, "this monastery is the first place with an easily accessible source of water-"

A guttural growl stained with rage worked its way up from the depths of Tasuki's chest, cutting Chiriko off. "I ain't hidin'." Blood rushed in Tasuki's ears and all he could hear was the sound of his own heart pleading for vengeance. He wasn't about to let this opportunity slip away.

The pit of Chichiri's stomach dropped out at the harsh, murderous tone in the redhead's voice. "Tasuki-"

"Fuck off, Chichiri," Tasuki snarled, grabbing for the handle of his tessen. "They're not gettin' away." Taking the solid weight of the weapon in hand, he turned to make his way back down the stone steps.

Chichiri bounded down the few stairs between them and caught Tasuki's arm in a tight grip. "Tasuki, don't, no da!"

Amber eyes flashing under tightly drawn brows, Tasuki's gaze bored straight into Chichiri's. "Let go. Now." Drawing up to his full height, Tasuki loomed over Chichiri, his fiery hair accentuating the fury painted across his face. "Nuriko deserves vengeance, an' I'm gonna make sure those fuckers die fer what they did."

Covering his mouth with both small hands, Chiriko watched wide-eyed as Tasuki and Chichiri squared off like two fighting dogs. The level of hostility that existed between the monk and the redhead shocked and surprised him. Relations between the two seemed to have been improving since they'd left Touran. Flicking his gaze to the road, his eyes grew larger still. The Kutou forces were nearly upon them and they had to do something. Chiriko looked up at Mitsukake. "What should we do?" he said, certain the big healer could hear the faint tremble in his voice.

Chichiri tightened his hold on Tasuki's coat-clad arm. He'd seen that reckless disregard for life and limb before–on that night in Kutou–and he liked it even less now than he had then. "Don't do this, Tasuki, no da. More bloodshed isn't the answer, no da. Nuriko wouldn't want you, or any of us, to be killed seeking revenge for his death, na no da."

"What th' **fuck** d' you know 'bout what Nuriko wants er not?" Tasuki's face contorted into a contemptuous sneer, his fangs clearly visible. "What th' fuck d' you know 'bout what **I** want er not? I'm sick o' yah tellin' me what t' do!" Tasuki roared. "Nuriko's soul's gotta be put t' rest, an' I'll be damned if yer gonna get in my way!"

Brows furrowed, Mitsukake watched the two seishi quarrel. Mitsukake knew Nuriko's death had affected Tasuki more deeply than the rest of the celestial warriors. Given the redhead's hot-headed disposition, he **would** want to seek retribution against Kutou and the Seiryuu. But, the wrath in Tasuki's accusations and the pure enmity on his face spoke of something deeper than avenging their fallen comrade. This argument, he suspected, was not just about their current situation, or Nuriko, at all.

Only the curve of Chichiri's fox-eyes retained any vestige of his mask's usual mirth. His brows drawn nearly as tight as those of the redhead he faced, his lips fell into a grim line. His hands were already stained with too much blood. He was not going to lose anyone else, especially Tasuki. "You'd have us fail both Miaka and Kounan to engage in a battle we don't even know if we can win, no da?" he retorted. "There are four of us, and at least fifteen of them; we are in no position to fight, no da. If we die here, Kutou **will** find the second Shinzahou and summon Seiryuu, and Kounan **will** be destroyed, no da."

The hurt and resentment Tasuki had nursed since the Shichiseishi had arrived in Hokkan welled up within him then. "That's yer answer t' everythin', ain't it?" he spat. Taking on the high-pitched tone of Chichiri's voice, he continued. "'Can't avenge Nuriko 'cause Kounan'll be destroyed, no da!' 'Can't let Kutou see weakness 'cause Kounan'll be destroyed, no da!'" His scowl deepened as a vivid and angry scarlet flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks. He dropped the affectation, his voice becoming a low and menacing growl rumbling up from deep within his chest. "'Can't love yah 'cause Kounan'll be destroyed, no da.'"

Chiriko's mouth dropped open. In Delger's camp outside Touran, Chiriko hadn't been able to get Chichiri to open up about his relationship with Tasuki at all beyond that he was in love with him. Chiriko had assumed the reason for Chichiri's reticence was that his affections had been unrequited. But, did Tasuki actually share Chichiri's feelings? Chiriko jerked his gaze up to Mitsukake. Had the healer known about this? "Did y-"

_That's it, then,_ Mitsukake thought as he heard the words leave Tasuki's lips. With a shake of his head, he cut Chiriko off mid-syllable. He could see the confusion and questions swirling in the scholar's mind, but they had no time for them. Once they were out of harm's way and somewhere he and Chiriko could talk alone, they would discuss it. Mitsukake glanced down the road. The Kutou forces were gaining on their position with each passing moment. If they tarried much longer, they would be seen and a fight would become inevitable. "What is our best option?" he asked as Chiriko reluctantly turned his attention to the haze kicked up by the advancing horsemen.

Chichiri's eyes narrowed at Tasuki's scornful impression, further still at the mention of that night in Tomoru's village. He should have known Tasuki would throw his rejection back in his face at some point, though he never imagined it would be in front of their fellow seishi. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see the surprised and knowing looks on Chiriko's and Mitsukake's faces. Apparently, Chiriko hadn't been the only one asking questions. _And getting answers,_ Chichiri thought to himself. Still, no matter what he told himself about his feelings for Tasuki, and no matter how much the redhead ended up hating him for it, Chichiri knew that if he had to watch Tasuki die, even if it were by Tasuki's own choice, he would never forgive himself. "They can hide their life forces from us, Tasuki no da. We've only encountered five of the Seiryuu Seven so far; if the last two, or even Nakago, are in that contingent, we wouldn't stand a chance, na no da."

Tasuki bristled as his mind flew back to the abortive trip to Kutou and its aftermath: the dispute they'd had about saving Miaka, the monk's deception that led to Tasuki being tied to a column, the beating he'd taken at the hands of a drugged Tamahome, and the days afterward spent bandaged and bruised as he waited for Mitsukake to use his powers to heal him. If that was what Chichiri was getting at–that Tasuki had to be looked after like some child–he didn't want any part of it. He knew his way around a fight, and he could take care of himself; he'd proven that several times over already. What exactly was Chichiri trying to say? "So we run like fuckin' cowards? **Again**? **That's** yer answer?!"

Chichiri let go of Tasuki's arm with a frustrated growl. Was Tasuki purposefully twisting Chichiri's meaning? "We barely made it out of Kutou alive, no da!" the monk shouted. ""I'm not going to let you throw your life and the lives of everyone in Kounan away for this hollow revenge, na no da!"

The hazy cloud had nearly tripled in size since Chiriko had first spotted it. The riders were no longer hidden by the swirling dust. Surely the soldiers were close enough to see the monastery and them by now? His brows furrowed as he fidgeted with the silk sleeves of his robe. "Outrunning them is no longer feasible. We wouldn't be able to ride fast enough to avoid detection at this point. And hiding until they pass just isn't advisable." Chiriko glanced up and down the trade road as Mitsukake hastened down the stairs and began untying the reins of the horses from the balustrade. The bass rumble of hooves echoing off the cliff walls began to assert itself, becoming an ominous drone just below Tasuki and Chichiri's arguing. ""he most likely scenario is that they will set up camp inside the monastery. It's the only choice for such a large group. Once they enter, we would never be able to sneak back out the entrance without being either seen or heard," Chiriko continued. "Our only real choice is to find a rear entrance to the monastery and enter the desert. The new moon tonight will keep us from being seen by any sentries. If we follow the cliffs, we should be able to parallel our current course. Once we're farther into Sairou and out of reach of the enemy, we can return to the road and make our way to the capital."

The horses nickered and snuffled in protest as Mitsukake started back up the short staircase to the stone terrace leading all three of their mounts. "Here." He thrust the reins of Tasuki's and Chichiri's mounts into their respective hands.

"'Ey-" Tasuki barked.

The sharp clop of Mitsukake's horse's hooves against the weathered stone as the healer continued on cut off Tasuki's objection. "We're out of time," he threw over his shoulder. "Lead your horse through the monastery and look for another exit. We'll use the desert beyond to escape."

A low growl slipped from Tasuki's throat as both Chichiri and Chiriko wordlessly moved to follow Mitsukake. Taking one more look at the Kutou soldiers bearing down on them, Tasuki clenched the leather reins in a tight fist. "Dammit," he hissed. His leather coat swirled about his boot tops as he headed off toward the monastery entrance and after the rest of the seishi.

\- o - o - o -

The slow, rhythmic sway of his mount and the hushed rustle of sand under hooves lulled Chichiri into thought. He gazed up at the dazzling multicolored splash of the Silver River as it flowed across the heavens, a furrow of concern digging itself between his brows. The damage done to the interior of that monastery couldn't have been caused by mere neglect. In the main prayer hall, statues of both Buddhist deities and of Byakko had been pulled from their niches and ground almost to powder. Sprawling wall murals had been defaced or destroyed altogether. Ritual objects had littered the pockmarked and maroon-smeared tile floor, along with personal items, various and sundry. The individual cells had fared no better as piles of charred books and robes smoldered where broken candelabras had started small fires. They'd found no evidence that the monastery had still been inhabited when it was ransacked, but the faint residue of malignance hovering just beneath the echoes of the missing monks' chi unsettled him. He'd kept his concerns to himself; after all, what choice did they have but to pass through the structure with the enemy close on their heels? Still, that aura had felt familiar, as if he'd encountered it somewhere before. Chichiri frowned. Whatever it was, he thought, something very old and very powerful was at work.

The starlit sky did little to illuminate the steep dunes in front of him, and Tasuki scowled. They'd managed to find a switch-back-laden goat path snaking down the cliff behind the monastery, but it would have been better to have stayed on the trade road in his opinion. Even after Mitsukake had blindfolded it, saying that it would make it easier to lead the animal, Tasuki's increasingly belligerent horse wanted nothing more than to shove Tasuki over the edge to a messy end. He'd spent what seemed like hours trying to coax the damn thing along. And despite managing to get it to the bottom, it had still tried anything and everything to dislodge Tasuki from the saddle. Hours upon hours of riding a few li then having to endure myriad attempts at rearing, bucking, and shaking were starting to take their toll. He was certain the creaking noises he'd heard coming from beneath him during each incident couldn't be at all good. Tasuki eyed Chichiri's shadowy form riding several lengths ahead of him. "Ey, Chichiri!" he called. "Let's rest a while an' wait fer Miaka an' Tamahome."

Startled out of his reverie, Chichiri glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of Tasuki's voice. He could barely make out the redhead or his horse against the starlit sky. "We have to hurry, no da. If you don't cover as much distance as you can by night in the desert, you can be fried to a crisp when the sun comes up, na no da."

"I know that! But my horse has a mind o' its own an' refuses t' go on!" Tasuki nudged his mount's ribs with his knees. It stood as it had for the previous few minutes, hooves planted in the sand. An indignant snort was the only response. "Come on!" Again, Tasuki kneed the animal's ribs, this time harder. "Will yah move it?! We're gettin' further an' further b'hind, yah stupid horse!" Tasuki growled, yanking the reins back and forth in frustration.

A welcome gust of cool night air ruffled his bangs and Chichiri sighed to himself at the current iteration of Tasuki's battle with his mount. These incidents had been happening with almost clockwork consistency since they'd entered the desert. And they would always follow the same pattern: the horse didn't want to obey Tasuki's commands, Tasuki would throw out complaints and threats, and the horse would make an effort to rid itself of its rider. Chichiri wasn't particularly surprised by it at this point, but it did make their trek across the desert slow and irritating.

_Tasuki..._ Almost everything about the redhead evoked some response from him, and most of those were irrational and unwelcome. Chichiri thought back to the argument outside the abandoned monastery. "What th' fuck d' you know 'about what **I** want er not? I'm sick o' yah tellin' me what t' do!" "That's yer answer t' everythin', ain't it?" "'Can't love yah 'cause Kounan'll be destroyed, no da.'" He scowled, the edges of his perpetual smile dipping into a frown. They had very nearly been caught by that Kutou cavalry unit, and he had done nothing but exacerbate the situation. Mitsukake had to be the one to act. It mortified him. Tasuki pushed him, challenged him, in ways for which he had never prepared and could not control. Why? Why did he ever let this happen?

Without so much as a warning, the petite horse jumped forward, its legs locked and its head held low. Tasuki swayed dangerously in the saddle. "Stop it, yah fuckin' bastard!" he cried. Clamping both hands on the wooden saddle's high pommel, he braced himself against the metal stirrups. A few sharp snorts echoed across the dunes as it jumped again, this time kicking its rear legs out behind it. The leather girth gave an ominous rip-pop as the saddle lifted off the animal's back, launching Tasuki forward. "Fuck!" The scintillating stars and dusky dunes spun past in a blur as the redhead and the saddle sailed over the horse's head. Necklaces and tessen clattering, Tasuki slammed shoulder-first into the ground. Despite the cushioning effect of the sand, burning pain shot through every nerve in his body, wrenching a groan from his throat. The saddle landed with a jangling thud not an arm's length from his head.

"Chichiri!"

Chiriko's exclamation from some ways ahead of where he rode tore Chichiri's gaze from the dark shape of Tasuki laying on the sand. "Yeah? Don't tell me you're having trouble with your horse, too no da?" he said.

"Look! At all the lights there!" Chiriko pointed off across the landscape. The voluminous sleeve of his teal silk coat rippled in the breeze.

"Huh? Is that-" Innumerable pinpricks of yellowy light–lamps of some kind, Chichiri thought–glittered in the valley between a collection of towering dunes on the southern horizon.

"That must be Sairou." Chiriko smiled as he turned back to Chichiri. "What other city would be situated out here in the middle of this interminable desert?"

"Let's go check it out, no da. Tasuki?" Chichiri reined his horse to a stop. Glancing back at where the redhead had fallen, he instead found Tasuki's shadowy shape marching across the sand toward him.

"That's it!" Tasuki slid down the slight incline separating him from the other seishi, his boots sinking to his ankles with each stride. "I'm fuckin' walkin'! That damn horse can die out 'ere in th' desert! I ain't ridin' it any more!" The wind tossed his disheveled hair into his face.

Mitsukake too brought his horse to a stop. He and Chiriko watched the redhead's silhouette tramp across the dusky sands. "But Tasuki," Chiriko said with a frown, "you'll never make it before the sun rises on foot."

"Don't fuckin' care."

"Tasuki, no da." Chichiri urged his horse into a walk to follow. The soft, plodding crush of sand beneath the animal's hooves and the jingle of the brass rings and buckles on its tack echoed the determined, scratchy crunch of Tasuki's bootsteps and the subdued swish of his leather coat. "Those lights are at least another day and a half from here, maybe more, no da."

"I said I don't fuckin' care."

With a heavy sigh, Chichiri clicked his tongue. His mount nickered and trotted past Tasuki before coming to a stop in the redhead's path. "You can't make it there without a horse, no da," he said.

Tasuki paused not a hand's breadth from where Chichiri sat astride his horse. He scowled as he looked up at the monk's dark outline, the quiet, leisurely flap of the man's kesa in the night air obscuring and revealing the starry sky by turns. "An' just whatta yah s'pose I do 'bout that, huh? Fuckin' horse threw th' saddle along with me, if yah didn't notice."

Mitsukake reined his and Chiriko's horse around and trotted toward Tasuki's abandoned mount. The little bay horse nickered almost happily as the healer and scholar approached. It nuzzled Mitsukake's knee, huffing a few warm breaths across his lap. He reached out to take hold of the reins, but hesitated in mid-movement. Instead, he ran his big hand down the horse's back. "Hmm." Tasuki was right: the saddle was no longer attached to the horse. Out of the corner of his eye, Mitsukake spotted something on the ground, darker than the surrounding sand. He could just make out the subtle glint of the polished metal medallions that decorated the saddle's seat amidst the disheveled heap. Taking the reins in hand, Mitsukake headed back toward where Tasuki's silhouette seemed to be trying to stare down Chichiri's mounted one. "If the leather girth is indeed broken, the saddle won't be of any use."

Tasuki snorted. "Oh, it's busted alright. Fuckin' thing snapped right b'fore I hit th' ground."

"Couldn't Tasuki ride without the saddle?" Chiriko cocked his head. He'd seen many people, his elder brother among them, ride a horse bareback from time to time. Tasuki and his horse might not get along very well, but it was better than allowing Tasuki to walk.,/p>

Mitsukake shook his head. "The horses we received from Tomoru are different from the horses in Kounan. Their small size makes it difficult for them to carry riders without a proper saddle. Putting the weight of a person directly on their backs for any appreciable amount of time would cause injury."

"So that's why the saddles are shaped the way they are," Chiriko said, the curiosity in his voice very similar to that which Mitsukake had often heard from the young scholar while studying.

"Yes. The saddle holds the rider's weight off the animal's back and shifts it to the stirrups." Mitsukake looked off toward the horizon, the ends of his headband waving in the breeze. The crests of the dunes to the east were dark against the night sky. Dawn was still a few hours off, but they would need to look for shelter from the coming day soon. He shook his head. Whatever Tasuki's complaints about having to share with Chichiri, Mitsukake knew the monk would make the best of it. Urging his horse forward into a walk, he and Chiriko began heading for the lights of the city, leading Tasuki's former mount. "We should hurry."

"'Ey! What th' fuck?!" Tasuki shouted. Bristling with displeasure, he scowled, his fangs poking from the corners of his mouth.

Taking hold of Mitsukake's coat, Chiriko turned back to look at Tasuki's and Chichiri's shadowy forms. "Yes. We'll be fortunate to find a place out of the sun to rest before daybreak," he added. As Tasuki cursed after them, he cocked his head. Even if there was no other choice, was it truly wise to force them together like that, especially after the ferocity of their argument outside the monastery? It was evident that Tasuki wanted no part of riding with Chichiri. Chiriko's lip quirked in contemplation. Mitsukake must have a reason to do it; Chiriko doubted the healer wouldn't have taken that into consideration before he suggested it. _He must have something in mind,_ he thought.

Chichiri's brows furrowed as he watched Mitsukake's and Chiriko's silhouettes move off. A jumble of conflicting emotions swept through him. On one hand, it was his duty to make certain they carried out their mission. Allowing Tasuki to ride with him until they reached the city was part of that. Still... Chichiri glanced down at where Tasuki fumed next to him. He wasn't certain that he wanted to spend the next few days on the same horse with the piqued redhead. And they hadn't been in such close proximity to each other since their fight at Tomoru's village.

"Fuck," Tasuki spat. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glowered after Mitsukake and Chiriko before turning his attention to Chichiri. A larger part of himself than he had a desire to admit to wanted to climb onto the horse behind the monk and spend the rest of their journey across the desert snugged up together. Yet, he couldn't look past the anger and pain he felt toward Chichiri. That resentment–for preventing him from avenging Nuriko, for treating him like a child, for continuing to deny any feelings either of them had for the other–cast a pall over any thrill such closeness might have provided. Tasuki glared in sullen silence at Chichiri's shadowy figure.

After a long moment spent trading awkward stares, Chichiri let out a defeated sigh and held out a hand. "Come on, no da."

A soft growl bubbled up from deep in Tasuki's chest. "Fine. Move yer foot," he grumbled. Taking the proffered hand, he slipped a boot into the vacated stirrup. A gust of wind caught the hem of his leather coat. It billowed out behind him, allowing the breeze to rustle his linen pants beneath. The little iron-gray horse snorted and swayed, taking a few steps to adjust its footing. Grabbing the saddle's high cantle, Tasuki swung himself onto the horse's short back with a grunt. He slid as far forward as he could to avoid sitting on the animal's hindquarters. A grimace contorted his face as the cantle pressed farther and farther into his stomach. Having that piece of carved wood jammed into his diaphragm for the next few days would be a struggle, to be sure.

Chichiri's heart skipped a beat and a spark of electricity arced down his spine as he felt Tasuki lightly rest his hands on his hips. He swallowed hard. The coolness of the night air did little to mitigate the flush racing across his skin. The warmth radiating from the redhead's touch brought every emotion, every thought, everything Chichiri had been trying to suppress, into stark relief. He tensed, his grip on the reins tightening until he could feel the color drain from his knuckles. _No,_ he thought. _I can't do this._ Taking a deep breath, Chichiri willed the errant feelings and selfish desires roiling within him back into the dark recesses of his mind. _I won't do this. Not again. _With a gentle nudge, he urged the horse around and followed the rapidly retreating shapes of Mitsukake and Chiriko.__

\- o - o - o -

Tasuki squinted in the strong sunlight and glanced around as the four seishi plodded into town on their tired mounts. White-plastered buildings bordered the quiet, almost empty side street they traveled. Small windows, a similar open-work lattice to the ones at the monastery, dotted the thick, earthen walls. Overhead, strings of silken flags crisscrossed between the roofs. Tasuki craned his neck back to look up at the hodgepodge of bright and cheerful blues, reds, greens, whites, and yellows that fluttered in the breeze rolling in off the surrounding desert. Neat lines of print covered each flag's surface, but the sun and elements had faded the words beyond recognition.

Movement caught Tasuki's attention and he brought his eyes back down to street-level. Tucked into an alcove between two buildings, a shop stall displayed woven wool rugs. The vivid colors echoed the flags flying above, but the intricate geometric patterns reminded Tasuki a bit of the rugs they'd seen in Hokkan. A few women wearing long, sleeveless dresses over colorfully dyed blouses picked through the selection, their offers and counteroffers punctuated by the reverberation of the slow, heavy hoofbeats of the warriors' horses. Just under the stall's fabric awning, a bored-looking young girl sat atop a hip-high stack of rugs. Shifting in her makeshift seat, she propped her chin on a small fist. Her long dark braid slipped over her shoulder into her lap. Tasuki sucked in a breathless gasp as a profound and instant ache stabbed at his heart. _Nuriko..._ Hot tears sprang to his eyes. He'd watched Nuriko's amethyst braid slide off the courtier's thin shoulder a thousand times. It had become so commonplace that he'd never thought anything of it, but just seeing the little girl brought the feelings of loss, anger, and sadness rushing back to the surface. Memories of Nuriko spending hours brushing out his hair and how skillfully he would plait it back up, of how proud he was to get compliments from the courtesans at the palace and how he would crow about it to anyone who would listen for days afterward, filled Tasuki's mind. A lump formed in the back of his throat. Biting back a threatening sob, he reached up to wipe his eyes and sniffled in a shaky breath.

Tasuki started, blinking a few times to clear the tear-blur as he came face to face with Chichiri. The monk had turned to look back over his shoulder while the redhead had been wiping his eyes. Chichiri's cerulean bangs hung in a half-limp curtain that swung back and forth in time with their mount's gait. The two men looked at each other in silence for a long moment. Chichiri said nothing, but the slight furrowing of his brow and the subtle downward curve of his lips spoke volumes. As the monk returned his attention to the road ahead, Tasuki tracked a rivulet of sweat down the back of Chichiri's neck with his eyes. He frowned. The white-hot inferno of fury and heartache that had swirled within him outside the monastery had faded in the grueling heat of the desert. Every bit of the hurt, indignation, and sorrow remained–he **would** avenge Nuriko's death, no matter what Chichiri had to say about it–but Tasuki had found it difficult to actively rage with Chichiri's ponytail tickling his nose and the scent of sandalwood and of the monk himself enveloping his senses.

Several lengths ahead, Tasuki watched Chiriko look up and cock his head as Mitsukake brought their horse to a stop. The dark bay Tasuki had given up riding nickered and flicked its tail as the healer and scholar turned astride their mount to look back at Tasuki and Chichiri. When the monk and the redhead reached him, Mitsukake motioned down the street toward a building ringed by a cluster of scrubby multi-trunked willow trees. More of the yellow-glazed tiles they'd seen at the monastery decorated the shallow slopes of its roofs. "Chiriko thinks that may be a stable," he said.

Focusing his gaze beyond the place Mitsukake had indicated, Tasuki could see that the side street they followed intersected with a much larger thoroughfare. The hum of myriad voices buying, selling, talking, and laughing floated to his ears as men and women, children and elders, bustled past the mouth of the avenue in both directions.

Chichiri nodded. "Let's leave the horses there and ask around once we're on foot, no da." With a nod, both he and Mitsukake urged the horses into a walk and continued on. The corner of Tasuki's mouth quirked into a wry line. The monk's voice retained its usual high-pitched tone, but it had taken on a dry, hoarse quality Tasuki knew was as much from the hot desert winds as it was from disuse. The long, wordless stretches between the two of them had become almost routine. He could count on one hand how many sentences they'd exchanged over the last two days. Even when the four seishi had stopped to wait for nightfall to continue traveling, Chichiri had barely said anything to anyone. Part of him almost preferred their angry shouting matches to this oppressive silence. _Least then 'e was talkin' t' me,_ Tasuki thought.

A young groom scurried over the moment the warriors came to a halt in the arcaded courtyard of the stable. He took hold of the cheek piece of Mitsukake and Chiriko's horse's bridle. Glancing behind him, Mitsukake patted Chiriko's knee in signal to dismount. The scholar took the opportunity to slip from the animal's back to the ground. Chiriko glanced up from straightening his skewed collar as a wrinkled old woman materialized from somewhere in the back of the stable, and tottered over to stand next to the lanky stable boy. She attempted to look Mitsukake in the eye to address him. Craning her head back, she placed a calloused hand on the groom's arm to steady herself. Even on such a short horse, the healer's height was impressive. "Welcome. I am master of this stable. How may I help you gentlemen?" she asked. The strong, steady quality of her voice belied her fragile appearance.

Chichiri opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the pronounced thud of Tasuki's boots hitting the stone floor of the stable. Chichiri's brows furrowed as he watched the redhead take each of his wrists in a tight grip and arch into a sensuous, full-body stretch. The breeze swirling in the open-air courtyard flung Tasuki's unruly vermilion hair into his eyes as he threw back his head. Reflexively, the monk's eyes traveled up and down Tasuki's frame for just a second before he wrenched his gaze away. Chichiri's jaw tightened as he heard a sonorous and unrestrained groan leap forth from Tasuki's throat behind him. Very deliberately, the monk turned to the stable master. "We would like to board our horses for a few days, no da."

The old woman scrutinized the seishi with a keen eye. She cocked her head and pursed her lips as she took in the dust coating each man's sweaty, bedraggled clothing, and the haggard, exhausted expressions on their faces. Nodding to herself, she looked at Chichiri. "By your dress, I would guess you are travelers from another land. You have been journeying through the desert for quite a while, have you not?" Her brown face broke into a beaming, wrinkled smile. "All of you must be quite weary after such a trek. We shall take care of your mounts while you are here in town."

Chiriko looked up at Mitsukake as the big healer dismounted. He frowned and fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. "We don't have any currency."

"Do not worry about the cost," the stable master replied. She shot a look to the young groom. The boy held the bridle of Chichiri's horse, stilling it long enough for the monk to dismount as well. The stable hand then began leading the horses to stalls tucked under the wooden arcade lining the courtyard's perimeter. Motioning for the warriors to follow her, the woman wobbled toward the entrance to the stable.

Chichiri's brows furrowed as the woman continued her spiel. Something about her offer didn't quite sit right with him. They had no money, either from Sairou or Kounan. The small amount of cash remaining from what Hotohori had sent with them–what hadn't been lost or destroyed–had been left with the captain and surviving crew of the ship on which they'd traveled to Hokkan. Even if they'd had the funds on them to pay for the boarding of their horses, why would the stable master so readily offer to watch them for free? True, it could be months before the seishi managed to make their way back to Kounan and even longer to send payment from Kounan to the establishment by courier. It was also true that it had only been through the kindness of the people they'd met along the way that they'd managed to get as far as they had. Still, such generosity without the guarantee of compensation was rare indeed for the proprietor of a business. He glanced at his fellow warriors as they crossed the tile courtyard. Chichiri frowned. Even if something seemed off to him, could he really refuse such hospitality knowing just how tired and worn everyone was, including himself?

"We would be honored to keep your horses. There are many stables within the city, and indeed, many of them do more business than ours," the stable master said as she and the four men reached the entrance. She clasped her small, wrinkled hands behind her back. "But, I assure you, none of them can match the service and care of Lungta Stablery." Fixing Chichiri with another smile, she straightened her bent back in a show of pride. "Be at ease; your horses will be well cared for."

Exhaling deeply, Chichiri came to a decision. They didn't really have the luxury of ignoring such an offer if they were to succeed in finding the Sairou Shinzahou before the Seiryuu. The soldiers they had seen on the trade road three days before had most likely arrived already and would have quite the head start. He bowed his head low, his tangled bangs swinging with the movement. "Thank you very much, no da," he said, and returned the woman's smile. "We really appreciate your kindness, no da." A ripple of concurrence filled the air as the rest of the celestial warriors filed out of the building and into the street. Chichiri paused at the threshold and turned back to the old woman. "We'll return in a few days, na no da."

The stable master shook her head. "There is no hurry, young man. We are more than happy to offer any assistance we can to travelers such as yourselves."

Chichiri nodded once more and followed after the balance of the Shichiseishi.

Falling into step with Chichiri as the monk left the stable and moved toward the main street, Chiriko tucked his hands into the sleeves of his teal silk coat. "It was fortuitous that we found a place to stable our horses free of charge."

Mitsukake hummed in agreement and glanced down at Chiriko. "We should also look for a place to stay," he added.

"You said it, Mitsukake." Tasuki trailed a few steps behind the other three, the sound of his hard-soled boots nearly swallowed by the commotion farther ahead. "First thing I'm doin' when we stop somewhere 's take a bath. I got sand in places I don't even wanna talk about." He frowned, his fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth. "An' I don' know 'bout you guys, but I'm fuckin' hungry."

As the four seishi stepped out of the quiet side street, they emerged onto a wide market street teeming with life. Tasuki's head swiveled this way and that as he took in all the sights and sound. Shop stalls roofed by patterned fabric canopies and bursting with wares of all kinds lined the thoroughfare in either direction as far as Tasuki could see. Strings of the same silk flags he'd seen over the side street rippled in the wind blowing over the nearly flat rooftops of the chalk-white buildings buttressing the stalls. He watched a line of double-humped camels, a rich burnt sienna in the morning sun, trundle down the sand-strewn stone avenue. Guttural grunts and huffs punctuated the animals' passage. Several caravaneers, clad in thin, earth-tone robes and sporting knit caps, adjusted the packs strapped to the camels' backs. Bolts of cotton, silk, and linen, bags brimming with grain, salt, and spices, and crates holding precious metals, tea, and wool bound for other parts of Sairou or even other countries wobbled with each rolling step.

Nearby, a group of young women wearing the same kinds of dresses and blouses as he'd seen at the rug shop haggled with a hunched old man at a butcher's stall. Hanging from the stall's roof, countless skinned and dressed carcasses oscillated in the hot breeze. The coppery smell of blood filled the air. Low tables held slabs of meat, viscera, and long chains of sausage, all neatly arranged according to type and size. In the center of one table, the great shaggy head of the yak the sausages most likely came from sat almost as if in contemplation of its fate. Tasuki grimaced and looked away.

A strong, musky, almost oily scent spread into the air just beneath the metallic tang of the butcher shop, and Tasuki's nose wrinkled. A few stalls farther down the thoroughfare, a woman in a charcoal-gray dress and wearing an elaborately embroidered apron sold what looked like candles. Myriad vessels cast of gleaming brass or copper dotted the stall, each filled with a yellowish wax and bristling with multiple wicks. Tasuki had no idea what was being used as a fuel, but the longer he and the other seishi stood there, the more potent the odor seemed to become. A few larger candles had been lit and flickered on a table in the back. The dancing glow cast soft shadows around the stall. It was almost pretty, Tasuki thought. _If not fer th' smell._

A gust of wind brought the strong, earthy scent of carrots and onions, the tart citrus of pomegranates and oranges, and the delicate, floral aroma of peaches and apricots down the market street. Tasuki turned to look in the other direction and into the aromatic breeze. He took a deep breath and silently thanked Suzaku the fragrance had managed to cut through the lingering odor of the candle shop. His eyes darted from one stall to the next, each overflowing with baskets, boxes, tubs, and crates full of all manner of fruits, herbs, and vegetables. But, among those familiar items sat others the likes of which he'd never encountered. On a table in front of one stall, he spied a collection of oval fruits, nearly as long as a bitter melon, but over three times as wide and colored the darkest shade of purple he had ever seen. The hint of a grassy, almost nutty smell wafted to Tasuki's nose and he raised an eyebrow. Amid the papery garlic bulbs spilled across a table in front of yet another stall sat a round, shallow bamboo basket chock-full of what looked to him to be bunches of some sort of vegetable. A bundle of thick, celadon-hued stalks, capped by a crown of cilantro-like leaves, erupted from the plant's tangle of whitish roots. He wondered briefly if the vegetable would taste anything like cilantro.

From the corner of his eye, Tasuki spied an enterprising musician carrying a lute, much like the pipa he'd seen during the Qi Xi festival, but with a much longer neck and smaller body. He turned to watch the lutenist as he played to a group of gray-robed old men shuffling past. The man's fingers flew across the instrument's strings, plucking out a sprightly tune, all the while keeping time by stamping his boot-clad feet. A few nearby shoppers clapped at his antics and a handful of small children began to dance along to the rhythm. Tasuki cocked his head, but he couldn't make out the lyrics to the song the man was singing. Another musician, carrying a wooden flute and wearing a gold-trimmed brocade coat, emerged from the crowds hurrying to and fro. He walked up next to the lute player and joined in, weaving his melody into the song as if it had always been there.

Tasuki's eyes sparkled. A broad and cocky grin seized his lips and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, this 's a thrivin' metropolis."

"Pardon me, no da," Chichiri said as he flagged down a passing shopper. "Is this city in the Sairou empire, no da?"

The woman, clad in a voluminous, tan cotton cloak, paused and looked at the monk. Jet black hair spilled around her face under the hood she wore, accentuating the sunflower yellow of her eyes. She nodded. "Yes. It's the main border city." With the ghost of a smile, she continued on, the hem of her cloak fluttering in the hot desert breeze.

"See?" Tasuki shot Chichiri a smug smirk. "Not such a long trip after all."

Chichiri brows furrowed and he frowned at the almost impudent tone in Tasuki's voice. Deciding it wasn't worth it to engage in another squabble, he glanced back at Chiriko and Mitsukake. Both men looked as weary as he himself felt. Taking a respite in their journey might be the best course of action for the time being. If the major trade roads into Sairou all passed through this one city, he thought, Miaka and Tamahome would be certain to find them. "Alright," he said. "We can wait right here for Tamahome and Miaka, no da."

\- o - o - o -

Chiriko unrolled the ancient scroll across the tabletop. Whoever had prepared the pulp used to manufacture the scroll had been a master of his craft. Each visible fiber bore a consistent thickness and texture, ideal as a writing surface. He held a corner of the document up and scrutinized the light shining through it. The glow of the lantern passed through the paper with only a slight reduction in its strength. And, instead of sporting tiny cracks or tears, or insect damage, as had the most venerable manuscripts he'd heretofore come across, the material used for this scroll looked almost new. He glanced at the date on the tag attached to the ribbon that held the document closed. _This scroll has survived over two centuries completely intact?_ Chiriko's lip quirked in thought. He doubted the paper had been imported, given its unique properties. So, what could the people of Sairou have used to make such hardy fiber? Much of the paper used in Kounan was made from a mixture of mulberry bark, hemp, and cloth. Due to Sairou's arid climate, tree products were out of the question. Even if the stunted willows they'd seen growing near the stable hinted that the country did indeed support trees, that method would be unsustainable for wide-scale paper manufacture. Perhaps, he thought, the root of some abundant native plant had been used? He'd read once in a dusty treatise on the flora of the four kingdoms that some herbaceous plants could have some potential uses outside of medicine. _Something related to Daphne? Stellera, maybe?_

Across the paper's smooth surface, row upon row of faded black text ebbed and flowed. Despite its horizontal orientation, the script reminded Chiriko, in some ways, of the inscription on the Genbu monument in Touran. The carvings on the monument seemed to have represented individual words, with spaces separating them from each other. The syllables in each word had been carved as one unit, connected to the ones above and below it. On the scroll before him, each syllable looked to be described by its own symbol. _Using an alphabetic scheme such as this **would** make transcribing multiple copies of a text quicker and more concise,_ he thought as his eyes wandered over the series of cabinets lining the library's walls, their shelves piled high with all manner of scrolls and documents.

The sound of footsteps drew Chiriko's attention and he looked to the open doorway. Two people paused at the threshold. One he recognized as Pema Tsolmo, the woman whom Chichiri had questioned on the street the previous day and had offered the seishi the use of her home, while the other, a man dressed in a green robe over a snow-white shirt, looked to be a trader of some kind. Pema bowed low to Chiriko, her long black ponytail sliding down her shoulder to dangle next to her face.

"Do you need anything as you read? Something to eat, perhaps?" she asked as she straightened.

Chiriko shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

With a nod, Pema turned to leave. She ushered the trader on as she went. "Gyaltsen, why don't you quit that boring merchant business and follow this guy's scholarly example, hmm?"

As the two of them walked away, Gyaltsen snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Leave me be, Pema. Once this trip is all over, I'm going back to the capital to take over my father's caravans and I'll be an even better boss than he was."

As Chiriko listened to Pema and Gyaltsen's exchange, he was reminded of something very similar that Nuriko had said to Tasuki after the failed summoning ceremony. _Nuriko..._ Sorrow, sharp and unrelenting, bloomed in Chiriko's chest. The scene from that day popped unbidden into his head with a salience that surprised him. _"So, you said you lived in Jouzen City, didn't you? That's just a stone's throw away from Eiyou, isn't it?"_ Nuriko had said as all the Warriors waited outside the shrine to Suzaku for Miaka's private meeting with Taiitsukun to end. A rueful smile graced Chiriko's lips. He remembered how intimidated he'd been when he'd stepped forward to introduce himself, of the soldiers pointing their weapons at him, and of the angry looks directed at him by the rest of the Shichiseishi as they regrouped from Amiboshi's betrayal. _"Well, I was always busy studying, so I never got over here."_ Even after Chiriko's place in the Suzaku Seven had been confirmed, he'd felt nervous and a little out of his depth. _"Hey, Tasuki, why don't you quit that boring bandit business and follow this guy's scholarly example, huh?"_ Nuriko's kindness in taking the time to include him in the conversation had reassured him, even if the courtier had turned the conversation into an excuse to make fun of Tasuki. _"Humph. Lea' me alone. Once this 's all over, I'm goin' back t' Mount Reikaku an' I'll be 'n even better boss 'an 'r last one."_ Tasuki hadn't been too impressed with Nuriko's suggestion, Chiriko recalled as tears welled up in his eyes.

The familiar, warm pulse of Suzaku's power through him sputtered and ceased, and a feeling, not unlike that of an unmoored ship floating in the vastness of the ocean, settled like a weight on Chiriko's shoulders. "Nuriko..." Chiriko's jaw quivered as a tumult of images, blood-soaked and horrible, filled his mind's eye. Salty tears flowed from his red-rimmed eyes, tracking scalding rivulets down his face to his chin. Nuriko had died an agonizing, gruesome death at the hands of that monster. Chiriko shuddered as a sob clawed its way out of his throat. And what had he done to help? Nothing; he had only stood by and cried. If he could just control his celestial powers, if he were strong like Tasuki or Tamahome, or if he had useful abilities like Mitsukake and Chichiri, maybe then... He sniffled as, one by one, swollen drops fell onto his lapel, soaking into the teal-hued silk.

He didn't want to be alone. Wiping at his eyes and dripping nose with his sleeves, Chiriko pushed himself away from the table and the invaluable scroll. He staggered out of the library and into the quiet hallway. His soft shoes made barely a whisper against the stone tile. "Mitsukake," he called in a plaintive half-whisper.

"Chiriko?" Mitsukake's brows furrowed. Looking to the door of the room he occupied, he placed the potted plant he'd been studying down on the scuffed painted tabletop.

The geometric patterns decorating the wide corridor blurred into an undulating mass of color, and Chiriko dragged a small hand along one wall for guidance. "Mitsukake, w-where are you?"

Stepping out into the hallway, Mitsukake looked around. His eyes landed on the hunched figure of Chiriko. The scholar leaned heavily on the wall just a few paces from where Mitsukake stood. Rubbing at his eyes as he cried, Chiriko looked so small and vulnerable. "Chiriko," Mitsukake said as he hastened over, "what's wrong?" Placing a big hand on the boy's back, he could feel the sobs wracking Chiriko's body. He frowned. Gently, he guided the scholar into the room he'd occupied moments before.

"N-Nuriko..." Chiriko sniffed and wiped at his eyes with the hems of his sleeves.

Mitsukake shepherded Chiriko to an empty chair at the painted table near the center of the room. With a subdued scrape against the tiled flooring, he pulled over a chair for himself and sat down next to the weeping scholar.

"H-he was a-a-always so nice to me, and n-now, he's gone..." Chiriko struggled to get his uncooperative mouth to form an intelligible sentence despite the hiccupy sobs that escaped between halting words.

"Chiriko..."

"Wh-when I saw him laying t-there..." A deep frown settled between Chiriko's brows and he dropped his watery gaze to the floor. "I-I c-c-couldn't h-help... I-I c-couldn't do anything." Wrapping his arms around himself, he shrunk down in his chair. "W-what good a-am I as a celestial w-warrior? I'm so useless..."

Mitsukake shook his head. "You're not useless, Chiriko. Nuriko's death isn't your fault. None of us knew what was going to happen." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees and looked away. His thoughts returned to the snowy peak of Mount Koku. He understood the feeling Chiriko described well. "And, in the end, **none** of us was able to help him." After a long moment, Mitsukake returned his focus to Chiriko. If he dwelled on his failure, he would never be able to continue moving forward. "I think Nuriko is at peace now," he said. "And I think he'd want us to be at peace, too."

Chiriko looked up at the sadness he heard in Mitsukake's deep voice. He wiped his eyes as best he could until, through his tears, he could see the regret that had overspread the concern in the healer's expression. He'd never meant to cause Mitsukake pain. That he'd unknowingly made the big man so unhappy hit Chiriko like a slap to the face. He blinked as the stutter and flare of his celestial powers reigniting passed through him. With the return of his faculties, shame and embarrassment seized him. "I-I'm sorry. My character disappeared and I-"

Mitsukake shook his head, a faint and rueful smile touching his lips. "It's alright. All of us miss him."

His small fingers fidgeting with his dampened sleeves, Chiriko frowned. "That's the reason Tasuki got so angry outside the monastery."

Mitsukake sat back in his chair. The painted wood creaked as he shifted. "Nuriko's death hit Tasuki especially hard." He let out a soft sigh. "But, there was more than grief behind that argument."

Tasuki's venomous impersonation and inadvertent revelation rang in Chiriko's head: _"'Can't avenge Nuriko 'cause Kounan'll be destroyed, no da!' 'Can't let Kutou see weakness 'cause Kounan'll be destroyed, no da!' 'Can't love yah 'cause Kounan'll be destroyed, no da.'"_ He nodded to himself in comprehension. "Chichiri," he said.

Mitsukake hummed in agreement. "Chichiri refused to tell me anything about his relationship with Tasuki when I spoke with him in Touran." Slipping his hands fully into his sleeves, Chiriko's brows furrowed. "He only confirmed he had fallen in love with Tasuki after I deduced it for myself. Every entreaty to confide in me was met with either equivocation or a reminder of our duty as part of the Suzaku Seven." Chiriko frowned and looked away. "I'm sorry."

"No," Mitsukake said, "that confirms some things." He mulled the information for a long moment. What Tasuki had said in Touran was indeed true; he hadn't really doubted that it was, but that Chichiri had told Chiriko a similar story was interesting. "You were right that something was going on long before we sailed for Hokkan. Tasuki told me that he and Chichiri have been dancing around the issue, and each other, for weeks."

"'Weeks?' But that would mean..." Chiriko's eyes grew wide, and he trailed off as the idea sunk in.

Mitsukake nodded. "Tasuki has been interested in Chichiri since Miaka and they traveled to Kutou."

"That was just after you and Tasuki arrived in Eiyou, wasn't it?" Chiriko asked, cocking his head. The gears of his mind whirred at a furious pace as he began talking more to himself than to Mitsukake. "But, what occurred between the time we began our voyage and you mentioned your concerns over Tasuki's and Chichiri's behavior to me after our departure from Tomoru's village? There was tension there before, yet both of them began acting truly strange during the trek to Touran..."

"They almost slept together the night before we made landfall in Hokkan."

"Oh." Chiriko's thoughts came to a screeching halt the moment he processed what Mitsukake had said. " **Oh**." A violent blush claimed his cheeks and his ears. Clapping both hands over his gaping mouth, his green eyes seemed to swallow the upper half of his face. Chiriko stared at Mitsukake for a long time before he spoke again. Cautiously, he removed his hands, clasping them in his lap. "'Almost?'" The crimson still painting Chiriko's skin belied the calm he affected.

The corner of Mitsukake's lip rose in amusement. "Tasuki said Chichiri walked away before anything happened. After dinner in Tomoru's village, Tasuki confronted him." He frowned as the image of the redhead, hurt and miserable before the fire in Gurban's apartment, floated across his mind's eye. "It didn't go well."

Chiriko's sandy blond topknot bobbed as he cocked his head. "But if they both wanted to-" He stopped abruptly, his face again flushing as red as a persimmon. Changing tacks, he cleared his throat and continued. "Why would Chichiri push Tasuki away? Unless he felt a relationship would somehow interfere with the summoning of Suzaku?"

Mitsukake shook his head. "I don't know. From what Tasuki told me, Chichiri wanted to crush any feelings Tasuki had for him." The healer crossed his arms over his chest. "He told Tasuki he would never love him, and if they acted on their feelings, Kutou would invade Kounan." Mitsukake frowned. "It doesn't make sense. There has to be another reason."

Eyebrows rising, Chiriko felt a pang of sympathy for Tasuki. He would be embittered and angry as well if the person he loved said that to him, he was certain. Still, why would Chichiri go so far in his rejection? Even if he **didn't** want to be with Tasuki–which Chiriko found unlikely given all that he'd hitherto seen and heard–wouldn't a simple "no" suffice? Mitsukake was right: it didn't make sense. "I agree. But, if Chichiri refuses to disclose his rationale, is there anything we can do?" Realization sparked in Chiriko's head and he put his hands back into the sleeves of his coat. "You forced them to share a horse to precipitate communication."

Mitsukake nodded. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on his knees. "They need to start talking to each other. All we can do is push them in that direction."

Chiriko glanced out the open-work lattice window on the wall opposite the door. He watched the silk flags strung over the street ripple in the breeze. If he didn't know better, Chiriko thought, when Laozi said, "Love is, of all the passions, the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses," the sage was describing Tasuki and Chichiri. A wry smile touched his lips. Whether conspiring to put the monk and the redhead into situations where they had to interact would have the desired effect or not, he didn't know. Still, he was determined to do what he could to help. He may have failed to get Chichiri to open up to him, but he vowed he would not fail in his task a second time.

\- o - o - o -

The steep wooden staircase to the building's second floor creaked and complained with every step Chichiri made. He ghosted a hand over the time-worn handrail and let out a sigh. Another day without any sign of Miaka or Tamahome. In the past two days, he'd spent hours wandering through the city, up and down its streets, in its shops, and even among the caravaneers in the market, searching for anyone who may have seen either of them. _And still nothing,_ he thought. _I can't even feel their life forces._ His brows furrowed and the smile on his mask dipped into a frown. _Where are they?_

The scent of grilled yak meat, fresh bread, and alcohol met him as he reached the landing. The woman who'd so graciously allowed them to stay in her home, Pema Tsolmo, seemed intent on making sure not a moment passed without providing some dish, drink, or meal. After subsisting off dried meat brought from Hokkan and the water they'd scrounged at the abandoned monastery during their journey through the desert, real food had been a welcome sight. Still, Chichiri couldn't shake the feeling that, with no foreseeable end to their imposition, what started as hospitality could become resentment. He came to a stop in front of the spacious sitting room Pema had allowed the four warriors to use. Perhaps the others were having an early dinner. He took hold of the patinated brass handle and pushed open one of the thick, wooden double doors.

A refreshing breeze blew in through the opened lattice windows, ruffling the sheer silk curtains hanging to either side of them. The afternoon sunlight illuminated the riot of colors that coated the painted walls and carved columns of the room. Chichiri glanced at the day's meal as he closed the door behind him. Across the painted dining table set to the right inside the door, porcelain and worked metal dishes and bowls of all kinds sat heaped with an assortment of foods. Savory, meaty steam rose from a wide oval bowl of thenthuk near the center of the spread. Thin slices of stir-fried mutton mingled with chopped cilantro, wilted spinach leaves, and the soup's signature pulled noodles in a hearty broth. To the left of the thenthuk sat a plate of balep korkun. The wind brought the nutty smell of the roasted barley flour in the palm-sized, skillet-baked flatbread to Chichiri's nose, along with the fiery spice of the ever-present sepen. He enjoyed the hot, pepper-ginger taste of the sauce well enough, but not nearly as much as Mitsukake. The big man wiped the small porcelain bowl clean at almost every sitting. Butting up against the balep korkun was a platter of cold laping, with its clear jelly noodles. A spicy mix of pungent minced garlic and onion, more chopped cilantro, and a dash of salty soy sauce topped the dish. A half-empty plate of what smelled like dri cheese momos graced the left side of the table. The little round dumplings reminded him of the buuz he'd seen Checheg make in Hokkan, but these were only half the size. On an inscribed metal tray nearby, slices of fresh fruits and vegetables lay arranged in an elaborate fan pattern. Chichiri could see the firm white of daikon radish, the translucent pale green of cucumber, and the tell-tale fuzzy brown rind on the kiwifruit, among many items he did not recognize.

Chichiri's eyes lighted for a moment on a handful of empty cups and three ornate brass ewers with low, serpentine spouts just beyond the plates of food. He raised an eyebrow. The breeze turned, allowing the sharp alcoholic tang he'd smelled in the hallway to waft to him in full force.

"'Ey, Chiri! Yer just in time. Another feast fit fer a king. Check it out!"

The relaxed, cheerful drawl of Tasuki's voice drew Chichiri's attention away from the spread and to the man himself. Chichiri's breath hitched and he swallowed hard. The redhead sprawled leisurely in a wooden chair near the head of the table, his linen tunic and leather coat discarded and draped over the back of an adjacent seat. The unconscious–and unexpected–sensuality radiating from Tasuki's entire being took Chichiri aback. Instinctively, his eyes raked over Tasuki's half-naked, honey-hued body, burning every mark, plane, and contour into his mind. A spark of electricity dashed down Chichiri's spine, inciting a flutter in the pit of his stomach and a potent throb in his cock. The sweep of gentle hands across his body, the gust of hot breath against his face, the seductive whisper of passion in his ear, the heady scent of sex and leather tickling his nose, the bittersweet tang of Tasuki's tongue against his: The echoes of that night on the Shouryuu River assaulted Chichiri with a fervency that he didn't expect. _"Suzaku, I want yah... I've wanted t' fuck yah since that night we went t' Kutou."_ The words rang in his head, speeding his pulse in his veins, and he spent a long moment schooling his expression, and himself, back to an unaffected neutral. When he felt confident he'd managed it, he spoke. "Where are Mitsukake and Chiriko, no da?"

"Eh, those two won't even 'ave a drink with me. Chiriko's cooped up in th' library downstairs, an' Mitsukake's wrapped up in researchin' all sorts o' great herbs fer 'is medicines."

A distinct muzzy sluggishness marked Tasuki's movements, and Chichiri frowned. He watched Tasuki take one of the ewers from the table and attempt to pour another measure into his silver-lined burlwood cup. The stream of liquid wobbled along with Tasuki's hand, nearly spilling over the rim and down the side several times before he had finished. And, if not for a fortuitous jerk of Tasuki's arm that set the ewer safely on the edge of the tabletop, the thing would have slipped from his languid grip and tumbled to the floor. Chichiri's brow furrowed as he took a seat not quite an arm's length from the drunken redhead.

The squeak of the door's brass hinges drew both men's attention. As one, they turned to the doorway. Pema pushed one of the heavy wooden doors open and took a step into the sitting room. Clasping her hands together in front of her, she bowed. The hem of the mauve shawl around her shoulders slid toward her neck as she did so. “Sir,” she said upon straightening, “would you like anything else? Some more rakshi, perhaps?”

Tasuki threw his head back and laughed, a few wayward locks of his hair falling across his nose. "Hell, if it ain't too much trouble for yah, sure I would! Thanks!" Pema nodded and bowed once more. As she closed the door behind her, he turned to Chichiri. His face split into a wide, inebriated grin. "Whatta hostess, eh? She's gone outta 'er way t' make us comfortable, includin' lettin' us stay in this great house! Who'da thought Sairou'd be so friendly?" He took a long draft from his cup, welcoming the strong alcoholic burn as the beverage slid down his throat.

Chichiri let out a quiet sigh. He gazed out the window into the sun-drenched city below. From two stories up, the buff-colored sand dunes beyond the furthest outskirts seemed as waves on a burning sea, rolling endlessly toward the horizon. "Yeah... I don't know, no da. Maybe..."

Grabbing the sculpted handle of the brass ewer in front of him, Tasuki stared at the vessel for a long moment, his lips skewed and his fangs poking from the corners of his mouth. He raised it above his cup as steadily as he could manage. His brow creased in concentration as he tipped the ewer up. Further and further he went without anything coming out, until it was perpendicular to the aged tile floor. A single clear drop fell from the spout. It landed without a sound on the rim and hung there for a mere moment, a perfectly formed cabochon. The tremble of his hand shook it loose and it slid ever so slowly down the hammered silver lining to pool in the bottom of the cup. Tasuki peered very deliberately into it, holding the cup within a hand's breadth of his eye.

"Miaka and Tamahome still haven't arrived, no da," Chichiri continued. The subdued din of the market floated in through the windows on the breeze, an auditory counterpoint to the hypnotic ripple of the rows of silken flags binding the tops of each building.

A broad, giddy smile seized Tasuki's lips and he snickered. Groping around on the tabletop for another of the empty cups, he lurched to his feet.

"I want to update His Majesty about our progress so far, but something's interfering with my spells and transmissions, no da." Chichiri couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but something just wasn't right about this city. He returned his focus to Tasuki. "I'm worried, na no da."

Tasuki stumbled a few steps forward, his balance so compromised by the liquor that he only barely managed to stay upright. Whirling back toward Chichiri, he held both cups to the sides of his head. He chortled as he pranced a few steps to the right, then to the left. "'Ey! Lookit this! Elephant ears!"

As he watched Tasuki stagger to and fro, miming a woman's bustline and even Miaka's odangos with his cups, Chichiri's face fell like a stone dropped down a well. Why had he even entertained the idea of speaking to Tasuki about this? The redhead was so drunk that he probably wouldn't remember where he was, let alone their conversation, in an hour's time. A scowl settled between Chichiri's brows. Pushing his chair back from the table with a harsh scrape, he stood. "That's the last time I try to talk seriously to you," he said, dropping the silliness from his voice, and headed for the door.

Tasuki wobbled to a halt at the change in Chichiri's tone. Through the rakshi-haze enveloping his mind, the last words he ever spoke to Nuriko echoed and re-echoed: _"Keep yer help. I've had enough of it t' last a fuckin' lifetime."_ He'd turned his back on Nuriko in a fit of anger and the next day, the courtier was dead. He'd never see him or talk to him again. He'd never get the chance to apologize. Tasuki's brows drew together as the icy grip of desperation clenched around his heart. If he left everything that lay between Chichiri and himself like this, if he let Chichiri walk out that door now... The cups slipped from his benumbed hands, landing on the stone tile with a resounding crack and clatter as they rolled to a stop beneath the table. "Chiri, wait. Don't go." He took a hesitant step toward the retreating monk. "Please."

Chichiri paused, his hand hovering over the door pull. He took a deep breath and let his eyes drift closed. The quiet plea in that gentle tenor voice slashed at his heart and cut at his resolve. He had a good idea of what Tasuki wanted to say. Still, some small part of himself again wanted to hear the words from the redhead's own lips. Chichiri exhaled long and low, and opened his eyes. Silently, he turned his head and looked back over his shoulder.

Tasuki planted his hands on the dining table and let his muscular frame sag against his arms. He traced the swirling flourishes in the geometric design painted along the edge with his eyes, the curtain of his vermilion hair veiling his gaze. "Nuriko... Th' last thin' I said t' 'im 'fore 'e died..." Tasuki shook his head, his earrings swinging at his jaw. "I never got t' tell 'im I was sorry. 'E died b'fore I could." All the pain and sadness that he'd been carrying, all the hurt and sorrow: he could feel it so much more keenly under the liquor's amplifying influence. "Chiri, I'm sorry. I know I fucked everythin' up between us. I didn' mean to, but I fucked it up anyway, an' I'm sorry." Tasuki exhaled, his body trembling with feelings he couldn't adequately process. He was silent for a long time before he finally looked up and into Chichiri's eyes. "I still love yah, Chiri. That ain't never changed, since th' day we met." He placed a hand on his chest, just above his heart. "I love yah, an' I want yah, with everythin' I got. An' I'm gonna keep on lovin' yah 'til th' day I die."

Chichiri's heart skipped a beat, then two, his lips parting in the crush of emotion sweeping through him. The manifest ardor and devotion shining in Tasuki's glassy, half-lidded amber eyes physically hurt to witness. Chichiri had seen those same emotions there so many, many times before, and each time, it got that much harder to ignore. He couldn't accept what Tasuki offered so freely; he had tried to make that abundantly clear, to Tasuki and to himself. Still, that he had chosen to listen anyway, knowing how much even the semblance of hope tortured both of them, only proved his unworthiness of such adoration. Chichiri turned back to the door before him. Clenching the hand at his side into a tight fist, he took the brass door pull in the other. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway beyond, the whisper of his soft-soled shoes the only sound.

The door clicked shut behind him and the world began to unravel. Chichiri blundered forward as the floor heaved beneath his feet. _An earthquake?_ He fumbled for the top of the handrail to the staircase. Around him, the painted walls warped and wavered, stretching impossibly in one direction before snapping back in the other. Tapestries and paintings lining the hallway skewed along with the walls they were attached to but did not move, almost as if they were glued down. Walls faded in and out of solidity, allowing flashes of barren desert and sand to intrude on the home's interior before disappearing once more. The hum of the market rose and distorted along with the building, until it became a shrilling whine that tore at his ears. Ferocious vertigo stripped Chichiri of his balance, and he tumbled forward onto his hands and knees. But, instead of slamming into hard tile, the surface gave on impact. He sank into the now soft, grainy, and scorching floor. Hellish, inferno-like heat choked Chichiri's lungs and seared his nose as he tried to inhale. The walls vanished in a blast of withering light that robbed him of his vision. Struck blind, his heart pounded against his ribs as panic held him fast. Merciless tremors wracked his body. He clutched at his throat with shuddering, numbed hands, while his stomach pitched and yawed. Doubling over, he retched. Flecks of acidic bile stung his swollen tongue and cracked lips as he heaved, but not much else came with it.

"Chiriko! Chiriko! Come on, little guy! Talk t' me! Chiriko!"

Mitsukake's brow furrowed and he glanced back over his shoulder as he made his way toward Chichiri. Tasuki held Chiriko's limp body in his arms, a barely controlled hysteria chiseled into the redhead's features. Enveloped in the teal-hued puddle of his silk coat, the young scholar had yet to regain consciousness. Still, Mitsukake had already administered as much of his holy water as he felt safe using; it was up to Suzaku and Chiriko's own will to live now.

Tasuki studied Chiriko's slack face. Mitsukake's holy water had instantly mended the bleeding cracks in the boy's skin, leaving behind an unblemished, if ashen and drawn, complexion. Chiriko's chest rose and fell with his shallow breaths, but he was breathing. Tasuki hugged him a bit tighter to his chest. Chiriko had to live through this; he was like the little brother Tasuki had never had growing up.

Mitsukake turned his gaze back to Chichiri, and assessed the situation. He didn't know how they had ended up in the middle of the desert, but it was clear the four of them had been there for some time. The pale azure predawn sky glowed a bright, creamy yellow on the eastern horizon, a far cry from the vivid sapphire flecked with wispy white clouds of late afternoon it had been just moments before. When the city had disappeared, he'd found Tasuki, burned and blistered, muttering incoherently to himself and crawling toward Chiriko's crumpled, still form. He'd had to stamp down the dread that had crept up his spine at the sight. Ultimately, Tasuki and himself had suffered the least from the sun poisoning, dehydration, and exposure with which they'd all been afflicted. After taking a sip of his holy water, he'd coaxed the delirious redhead to drink and set to work on the others. Chiriko's condition had been the worst. He'd been at death's door, and if Mitsukake had come to his senses a moment later, the boy would have perished. Chichiri had fared little better, despite most of his skin being covered. "Chichiri. Can you hear me?"

The crunch of sand underfoot filtered into Chichiri's consciousness. Seconds later, Mitsukake's calm baritone sounded next to him, while somewhere farther away and behind him came Tasuki's scratchy, fearful tenor. A large hand lighted on the back of Chichiri's neck and he shrieked in agony. Curling in on himself, a white-hot, prickling burn radiated out from that mere touch and raced across his skin.

At the sound of Chichiri's tortured scream, Tasuki's gaze shot to where the monk hunched whimpering in the sand. "Holy Suzaku," he breathed. "Chiri!" Holding Chiriko securely to his bare chest, Tasuki sprang to his feet and tore off toward him, his boots sinking to his ankles with every stride.

Mitsukake jerked his hand away from the stricken monk. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Tasuki barreling toward him. He snapped his head to the left just as the redhead dove knees-first to the ground next to him. A shower of sand exploded from the impact, spraying Mitsukake's entire right side.

"Chiri..." Angry, weeping sores covered what Tasuki could see of Chichiri's alabaster skin, especially around his tunic's collar. A panicky flutter invaded his stomach and his heart sped in his chest. "Mitsukake! Yah gotta heal 'im! Hurry!"

"Tasuki," Mitsukake warned, giving Tasuki a sharp look as he shook some of the grit out of his hair and brushed it off of his clothes, "calm down." The healer returned his attention to the shivering, cerulean-haired mess in front of him. "Chichiri," he slipped a hand into his saffron-colored coat and retrieved the jar of holy water, "I need you to drink this. Can you sit up for me?"

His brows drawn tight, Tasuki watched Mitsukake gently encircle Chichiri's upper body with one arm and raise him to a kneeling position. The monk groaned and shuddered against the big man's chest. Tasuki's lips parted in horror at the extent of the damage to Chichiri's visage. The mask that Tasuki had seen so often since that night on the Shouryuu had disappeared, exposing Chichiri's true face. Blisters almost as large as Tasuki's thumbs dotted Chichiri's reddened and cracked skin, the scar dominating his left eye a milky white by comparison. Rivulets of dried blood streaked his chin, while beads of fresh crimson welled from innumerable fissures in his lips. "Chiri," he murmured. Tasuki knew Mitsukake would do everything he could to fix the monk up, but if Chichiri didn't make it...

"Tasuki?" Chiriko's weak, tremulous voice cut through the fear engulfing Tasuki's mind. Flicking his gaze to the body huddled in his arms, an ecstatic fanged smile overtook him. "Chiriko! Yer okay! How'dya feel?"

Glancing at where Mitsukake sat, attempting to force a mouthful of water into an almost comatose Chichiri, Chiriko's confused expression twisted into one of terror. Trembling, he covered his face with his sleeve-draped hands. "Tasuki, I'm scared."

Tasuki gave the character-less boy another squeeze. "Don't worry," he said, almost more to convince himself than to comfort Chiriko. "We're gonna be alright."

Chichiri choked and coughed as blood-laced holy water started to flow down his trachea. His parched throat protested the action and his lungs burned and ached. His eye clamped shut, he pushed feebly at the little earthenware jar and at Mitsukake's hand.

"Chichiri," Mitsukake gathered the monk's wrists into a loose grip and guided them out of the way, "you have to drink a little more if you can." As delicately as he could, he rocked Chichiri backward into the crook of his well-built arm as if cradling a small child. He tipped Chichiri's head back just enough to pour a few more drops past the monk's parted lips. This time, the liquid seemed to stay down. Mitsukake let out a quiet sigh.

A tension lifted from Tasuki's shoulders as he watched as the water's magic began knitting Chichiri's wounded skin back together. The open lesions shrunk little by little, diminishing in size and redness until no sign of them remained. Unruptured blisters sank back into Chichiri's flesh, leaving it intact, if pallid and gaunt. The oxidized blood coating his chin evaporated like a mirage. Even his rough, chapped lips smoothed back to their original state, the deep fissures closing up of their own accord.

As the debilitating pain ebbed from his muscles and skin, Chichiri slowly prised his eye open. The bright light took a moment to adjust to, but it no longer stung and burned like it had. He blinked owlishly as things came back into focus. The blaze of Tasuki's hair against the sky drew Chichiri's notice and he looked up at the redhead planted in the sand a mere arm's length from him. Tasuki gazed down at him in turn, his expression brimming with concern, relief, and, above all, affection.

"Chichiri," Mitsukake said, shaking the monk from the spell of Tasuki's eyes, "how do you feel?"

Glancing up at the healer, Chichiri smiled. "I'm fine, thanks to you." He clambered out of Mitsukake's grasp and rose to his feet. With a word and a flick of his wrist, Chichiri conjured a new mask and smoothed it over his face.

"Chichiri," Chiriko whimpered, uncovering his eyes at last. Rolling out of Tasuki's arms, he crawled a few paces across the sand toward the monk and struggled to his feet. He threw his small arms around Chichiri's waist and buried his face in the warm wool of the older seishi's kesa. "I was so scared."

Chichiri placed a hand on the boy's head. "I know, Chiriko, no da. I know."

"What th' fuck happened, anyway? What th' hell was that place?" With a grunt, Tasuki pushed himself to his feet and roughly slapped the sand from his knees.

"An illusion spell, and an effective one, no da." Chichiri's brows furrowed. He hadn't detected the enchantment used to create the city at all and that worried him. Only in the moment it had crumbled had he felt anything. The only ones capable of such high-level sorcery, he thought, were the Stars of Seiryuu. "It was likely a trap laid by the Seiryuu Seven to keep us from retrieving the Shinzahou here in Sairou, na no da." He dug his fingernails into his palm. Once again, his abilities hadn't been enough to keep everyone safe. If not for the timely dispersal of the magic and Mitsukake's holy water, all of them might have perished. His eyes gravitated to where Tasuki stood dusting off his pants. _"An' I'm gonna keep on lovin' yah 'til th' day I die."_ The redhead's drunken words rang through Chichiri's mind. _If you continue to pursue this,_ he thought, _I **will** end up getting you killed._

"Damn those Seiryuu fuckers," Tasuki growled, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "When I get my hands on 'em, I'm gonna make 'em wish they'd finished th' fuckin' job."

The flare of a powerful life force bloomed across Chichiri's consciousness and he whipped his head to the east. He squinted against the newly risen sun, his perpetual smile flattening to a line. It was Tamahome; he'd recognize the raw strength of the fighter's chi anywhere. As the initial burst of energy leveled off, Chichiri felt both the warm radiance of Miaka's spirit and the cold slither of Seiryuu. The life force of one, maybe more, of the Seiryuu Seven was in her and Tamahome's immediate vicinity. His brow furrowed. _Miaka..._ Turning to Mitsukake and Tasuki, he gently pried Chiriko from him. "Tamahome is engaged with the Seiryuu, no da. We need to go, na no da." With clumsy fingers, Chichiri began unclasping his kesa.

Tasuki's lips twisted into a feral grin, the morning sunlight reflecting off his fangs. "They're not gettin' away this time." He trotted over to where his clothing and tessen lay almost forgotten, his footfalls heralded by a scratchy crunch. Brushing off the bone-colored linen, he slipped his tunic on, and reached for his leather coat. A grimace spread across his face as his eyes landed on the desiccated corpse of his horse. The animal lay a little way from where he stood, its skeleton distinctly visible under its ill-fitting hide. Sand dusted its dulled, red-brown coat. Its sunken, sightless eyes stared skyward, its mouth a toothy sneer where the papery skin of its muzzle had peeled back. A quiver of revulsion snaked down Tasuki's spine and he turned away. That was what could have become of them if they'd stayed in that illusory city much longer. He regretted wishing death on his fractious horse–nothing, no matter how ornery, deserved to die that way–but there was naught he could do to change its fate now. He finished re-donning his garments and weapon, and headed back toward the others.

Casting his kesa to the ground, Chichiri frowned as the navy wool lay in a rumpled, very loosely rectangular jumble. He shook his head. It would have to do. His hands flowed through the familiar mudras of summoning, though the channeling of Suzaku's light for such a routine incantation fatigued him far faster than he'd hoped. He would need to rest, and soon, or he risked being without his magic at a critical moment. With one last word, Chichiri held out a hand. The chime of brass on brass filled the air and his shakujou winked into existence a little more than an arm's length above his head. He grabbed the staff's polished wooden shaft as it plummeted, stopping it just before it planted itself in the sand. "Everyone get on the kesa, no da."

Tasuki ushered Chiriko onto the laid-out cloth, followed closely by Mitsukake. Once all four seishi were securely within the confines of the kesa, Chichiri began to chant once more. He raised his shakujou into the air and brought it down with a crash. Waves of golden light, more vivid than the sun cresting the dunes behind them, began to pulse from beneath the men's feet. As they sank into the portal's depths, Chiriko eyed the glowing rectangle warily, clutching at Tasuki's arm the farther he descended. When the top of Mitsukake's head finally disappeared into the gateway, the entire kesa vanished in a puff of cream-colored smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 10
> 
> **Lama** → title in Tibetan Buddhism given to one who teaches the Dharma, or teachings of Buddha; from Tibetan for "high priest," historically given to venerated spiritual masters or heads of monasteries; similar to Sanskrit "guru"  
>  **Marou Mifen** → minted horse meat with rice-flour noodles, literally "horse meat rice noodles"  
>  **Lamellar** → type of armor composed of small plates, also called lames, laced together; most common armor type used in China for rank-and-file soldiers from Warring States Period at end of Zhou dynasty (2nd century BCE) to beginning of Ming (mid-14th century CE) dynasty  
>  **Girth** → also called a cinch; strap used to keep a saddle in place on a horse  
>  **Cantle** → the back portion of the seat of a saddle, usually sloping upward  
>  **Lungta** → Tibetan for "windhorse," it has many meanings in Tibetan Buddhism. First, it is a mythical, pre-Buddhist creature that, using the speed of the wind and strength of the horse, carries prayers from earth to heaven. Secondly, it symbolizes positive energy and good luck, being a subduer of evil and a vehicle for enlightenment. Thirdly, it, along with the "four dignities," creatures much like the four Taoist holy beasts used in Fushigi Yuugi, represent the five elements that make up the world: the tiger symbolizes wind, the snow lion symbolizes earth, the garuda symbolizes fire, the dragon symbolizes water, and the windhorse symbolizes space, or "the ground of all existence." Lastly, it symbolizes the "wind" or "subtle energy" that determines the direction the mind will take in reaction to the thoughts one has, either positive or negative, thus creating karma.  
>  **Dramyin** → a wooden, long-necked, double-waisted, 7-string, fretless lute, played most commonly by plucking; used mainly as accompaniment by storytellers and minstrels in secular Tibetan folk music, but also a few Buddhist rituals  
>  **Gling-bu** → side-blown Tibetan flute, similar to Chinese hengdi  
>  **Daphne** → genus in the family _Thymelaeaceae_ composed of woody deciduous and evergreen shrubs native to Europe, Asia, and north Africa; most species noted for scented flowers and poisonous berries; at least two species used to make paper in Nepal, Bhutan, and other countries in Himalayan region  
>  **Stellera** → (Stellera chamaejasme) also a member of the family _Thymelaeaceae_ ; an herbaceous plant native to Eastern Asia, along the Himalayas and highlands of China; grows on stony slopes and alpine plains at approximately 8,800 to 14,000 feet; roots traditionally used to make paper in Tibet, Nepal, and other countries in Himalayan region; the plant's toxicity makes paper made from it naturally insect-repellent and the flexibility of its fiber gives excellent resistance to wear  
>  **Thenthuk** → also thentuk; from Tibetan words "then," meaning "pull," and "thuk," meaning "noodle," a Tibetan soup made with short, hand-pulled flour noodles; can be made with or without meat, but broth uses a beef-, mutton-, or yak-bone stock; pronounced sort of like "ten" + "too" + "k"  
>  **Balep Korkun** → traditional Tibetan bread cooked in a skillet rather than an oven; traditionally made with barley flour, water, and a leavening agent, usually baking powder, and shaped into thin, round disks  
>  **Sepen** → Tibetan hot sauce; its composition varies, but is used to liven up fairly mild Tibetan cuisine  
>  **Laping** → spicy noodle dish served cool or cold in summer; noodles made from starch flour, shaped into a slab as it sets, then cut into thick slices; usually not made at home but sold at food carts by street vendors  
>  **Momo** → traditional Tibetan dumpling similar to Chinese jiaozi, Japanese gyoza, or Mongolian khuushuur and buuz; can be round or crescent-shaped, and filled with anything from ground meat to vegetables to cheeses; prepared most commonly by steaming, but can be deep fried, pan fried if already steamed, or boiled in soup  
>  **Dri** → Tibetan word for female yak  
>  **Burlwood** → wood cut from a burl–a large, rounded outgrowth on the trunk or branch of a tree–and used for making objects or as veneer  
>  **Rakshi** → also raksi, traditional Nepali and Tibetan alcoholic beverage distilled from fermented millet or rice; often called wine but is a grain alcohol; classified as a spirit with a 22%-27% alcohol content; clear like vodka or gin, and said to have a taste similar to Japanese saké  
>  **Sun Poisoning** → term often used for severe cases of sunburn; symptoms include skin redness, blistering, pain, tingling, and swelling, headache, fever and chills, nausea, dizziness, and dehydration; if not treated, can be fatal


	11. Shadows in Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally in Sairou, the group gets a much-needed moment to rest courtesy of Tamahome's master. Chichiri finally contacts the absent Hotohori, only to find tensions are at near-breaking in Kounan even as the Shinzahou of Byakko is nearly within their reach. Meanwhile, a fateful conversation weighs on Chichiri's mind as he and Tasuki begin mending fences.

_Houjun leaned back into Tasuki's hand as it slid behind his head to twine in the long, cerulean hair of his ponytail. His stomach fluttered as the redhead pushed his tongue deeper into his mouth. He felt like he was beginning to drown in Tasuki's arms. Chest heaving, Houjun thrust faster, desperate to ease the tangible ache in his groin. Tasuki growled, a low, seductive sound deep in his chest, and pushed him back onto the mattress. Breaking the kiss, Tasuki straddled his legs, eyes never leaving his face as he pulled off the heavy leather coat and discarded it on the brick floor below. “Nggghh.” Houjun's eye fluttered closed as Tasuki pulled open the knots in the sash at his waist, hips rising from the bed as his cock strained to connect with him, any part of him, again. He heard Tasuki chuckle before pulling the belt from his body and dropping it and the long tassel tied to a jade disk over the side of the mattress with a clack. Pushing open the crimson-stained blue silk robe, Tasuki pulled at the belt holding his pants closed. Houjun opened his eye, moaning again as Tasuki brushed lightly against his cock. His back arched at the sensation, steely flesh quivering with anticipation._

_Tasuki's other hand deftly untied the closure on the ivory tunic he wore beneath the robe, the last impediment to his lean alabaster chest. A warm, exploratory hand snuck under the linen fabric and Tasuki pushed it aside as he traced the muscles of Houjun's stomach. “Nggh...” Houjun moaned as Tasuki ran his fingertips over a taut nipple, his slow pace agonizing. He pulled impatiently at his waistband, willing Tasuki to work faster. “Please...” Tasuki chuckled again at his insistence, brilliant golden eyes locking with his delirious mahogany as he shifted back on Houjun's legs, pulling the linen pants down. His rigid member springing free from its confinement, Houjun thrust his hips toward Tasuki in supplication, a loud groan of impatience on his lips, fingers flexing in the tangled sheets. With a growl, Tasuki leaned down and engulfed his solid cock with his hot mouth._

“ _Ahh!” Houjun gasped, his back arching again off the bed like a bow pulled taut. Shudders of pleasure raced up and down his spine as he felt the tight circle of Tasuki's lips slide down his shaft. Searing heat, the likes of which he'd never experienced, wrung a delirious whine from his throat as the redhead's skilled tongue traced the bulging vein running along the underside. The foreskin traveled willingly along with Tasuki's exploration until the tip of his cock was fully exposed to the slick wet of the redhead's mouth. Houjun's stomach and thigh muscles danced under the onslaught, and he clamped his eye shut as Tasuki's nose pushed into the nest of cerulean curls at the base of his member. Electric sparks, nearly overwhelming in their intensity, radiated down Houjun's legs with each rub of the naked, sensitive head against the back of Tasuki's throat._

_His heart pounding in time with the thrum of his blood in his ears, Houjun writhed atop the mattress. Tasuki kept up an unrelenting pace, drawing up to the head to run the tip of his tongue across the slit before plunging down to the base once more. Again and again the redhead took him in, deep into the vise of his throat. His legs trapped beneath Tasuki's fevered weight and his mind focused only on release, Houjun fisted the disarrayed sheets as he bucked his hips upward in frantic, messy thrusts. The sharp scrape of teeth over his swollen, weeping cock sent shots of lightning up his spine. “Ngghh!” Houjun groaned again, long and low, as the vibration of a lusty chuckle bubbled up from deep within Tasuki's chest. Searching fingers drew tracks of flame across Houjun's pale stomach. Taking hold of the offending linen, they yanked his pants roughly to his knees._

_His eye snapped open as the bottom of his stomach dropped away. “Tasuki,” he breathed. He traced the planes of the redhead's now-bare honey-hued shoulders and the contrast of flaming vermilion hair against his own alabaster thighs. His clenched hands shook in apprehension and anticipation. He swallowed hard as Tasuki relinquished his claim on his member with one last lick. A trail of saliva and precum stretched from the slit to the redhead's glistening lips. Houjun's breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat as Tasuki flicked his gaze upward, pinning him in place. Feral lust and boundless devotion shown in equal measure in that look and Houjun let out a shuddering sigh._

“ _Yer holdin' all th' cards here, Chiri,” Tasuki said, his voice a quiet rumble to Houjun's ears. With the grace and fluidity of a tiger stalking its prey, the redhead ascended his now-naked, supine body. Houjun's breath came in short pants, his blood singing through his veins as Tasuki planted his hands to either side of his head and his knees astride his narrow hips. A soft moan fell from his lips as their straining, unclad cocks met. “Yah got everythin' o' me.” Reaching out, he caressed Houjun's cheek with a gentle hand, again running his thumb over his sealed eye. “Everythin'.” Houjun's lips quivered as Tasuki leaned down. Hot breath fanned across his face. The scent of leather invaded his senses. His gaze flickered to the redhead's own slightly parted lips before returning to those gleaming amber eyes. “I just need yah t' trust me,” Tasuki whispered._

“ _Yes...” His eye fluttered closed._

_A sharp yank on Houjun's ponytail wrenched his head back and away from Tasuki's mouth. Beneath him, the mattress liquefied. He scrabbled for some purchase, his eye wide and panic surging through him. “Tasuki!” A raging torrent of black and angry water broke over him then, strangling his shout with a watery gurgle. Coughing and choking, precious air poured from him. The flurry of bubbles raced upward toward the open portal to the surface that had been the bed. Inky spots and flashes of light danced in his vision as his lungs filled with the churning waters. He felt Tasuki grab at his flailing arms. Hands, some skeletal, some still clad in shreds of long-dead flesh, burst from below to seize his limbs, dragging him from Tasuki's grasp. Down, down he sank; the muffled sound of the redhead screaming for him barely audible over his own pounding heart._

“ _How do you like it, Houjun?” a voice, twisted with rage and steeped with hatred, rasped next to his ear. “This feeling of drowning...”_

_More and more hands grabbed at his body, taking hold of his throat and shoulders. He thrashed wildly against the steely grip. High above, he could see the rapidly retreating form of Tasuki still reaching for him. He screamed into the darkness, silent but for the tumult of bubbles tearing from his mouth and nose. This was it; he was going to die._

_A hideous, mocking laugh rang through Houjun's head. “Yes, suffer. Suffer and know that you will never be free of me.” Before him, a misshapen and bloated figure loomed out of the blackness. Houjun recoiled in revulsion, barely moving against the myriad crushing hands holding him. Moldering and distended flesh bulged from beneath the tattered remnants of a dirt-stained and blood-covered robe. The few remaining strands of dark navy hair spread like tentacles from its half-decomposed head. The figure opened its mouth, its shredded lips flapping in the current as if to speak. “I will take everything from you,” it said. Dull brown eyes burning with cruel joy bored into Houjun's from sunken sockets. A vicious sneer showed off its rotten, peg-like teeth. “Just as you took everything from me.”_

_As darkness consumed him, Houjun struggled to mouth one last word: “Hi...kou...”_

With a half-squelched yelp, Chichiri bolted upright. Cold sweat ran in rivulets down his mask-clad face. Its perpetual smile long gone, the magical implement instead mirrored the terror on his true face. One trembling hand grabbed for his neck, the other his chest to slow his thundering heart. He shuddered despite the heat permeating the room around him. Never before had that dream ended in such a manner.

“Chiri?”

Gulping in breath after breath, Chichiri fisted the front of his rumpled tunic until his knuckles showed white. His lungs burned with the residual sensation of drowning. He stared unseeing at the disheveled pool of sheets in his lap, Hikou's rictus grin and baleful words reverberating in his mind: _“_ _Yes, suffer._ _Suffer and know that you will never be free of me.” “I will take everything from you, just as you took everything from me.”_

“'Ey.”

Chichiri let out a sharp gasp as a hand descended to his shoulder. Instinctively, he jerked away from the touch, whipping toward its source as he did so. The sweat-dampened curtain of his bangs did little to conceal his look of wide-eyed horror.

Tasuki pulled his hand away. Concern settled between his brows as he rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes. He pulled himself to a seated position. In the half-light filtering through the openwork lattice window across the room, his fangs glinted at the corners of his frown. He cocked his head. “Yah okay?”

As Chichiri finally registered Tasuki's presence, the soft rumble of the redhead's whisper set his face alight. Instinctively, he flicked his eyes to the untied closures on Tasuki's tunic and the patch of tanned skin covering his collar bones that peeked from beneath. Images and sensations, nearly forgotten in the swirl of fear and adrenaline, surged to the forefront of his mind: warm, calloused hands on his body, the earthy musk of leather and sex, and those piercing eyes. The scalding flush raced down Chichiri's neck and across his skin, heating his blood and making his own thin shirt stifling.

“What's wrong?” the redhead asked through a wide yawn. He wiped at the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.

A shiver made its way down Chichiri's spine as his body–exhausted still from their experience in the desert, aroused by the gauzy vestiges of the dream-Tasuki making love to him, and unnerved by the nightmare it had all become–began to filter the maelstrom of adrenaline and testosterone. The words Tasuki had spoken in the dream echoed in his ears: _“_ _Yer holdin' all th' cards here, Chiri.”“Yah got everythin' o' me. Everythin'.”“I just need yah t' trust me.”_ Chichiri shook his head in an attempt to clear the disjointed thoughts and feelings flowing through him. The close, darkened room seemed much too small in that moment. He needed to get out.

“I'm fine, no da,” he said, and began extricating himself from the shared blanket. To Chichiri's left, Mitsukake stirred at the movement. The big man snorted once, his eyelids fluttering, before he resettled and resumed his slumber. Curled up next to Mitsukake's outstretched arm, Tama-neko watched the scene with languid interest, his furry tail swishing back and forth in a slow rhythm.

As hard as he tried to ignore it, Chichiri could feel the weight of Tasuki's eyes on him as he padded barefoot across the room. The barest hint of a breeze trickled in through the openwork lattice windows lining the wall where his effects awaited him. Rosefinches twittered a sprightly tune in the treed courtyard beyond, and somewhere farther still, the city marketplace hummed with trade. Taking up his kesa from a painted rectangular table set beneath the windows, he clasped it over his shoulder before slipping his prayer beads over his head. The subdued clack of jade on jade punctuated the action as he pulled his ponytail out from under the strand. Chichiri paused as his gaze fell on a polished bronze mirror the size of a dinner plate set on a stand near the back of the table. He needed to contact Hotohori and it would serve that purpose well. Tucking it under his arm, Chichiri moved toward the exit. He stepped into his soft-soled shoes and pulled the room's thick wooden door open a crack. Sunlight, shaded by the coffered ceiling of a veranda running along the outside of the room, streamed in through the opening and painted a diffuse stripe across the wood plank floor.

“Chiri?”

Chichiri hesitated, his hand on the bronze door pull. He turned, finally meeting the redhead's eyes. The concern in Tasuki's voice was palpable. Chichiri's brows knitted and a prominent frown curved his lips. They looked at each other, muffled birdsong and the murmur of Chiriko's snores where the scholar lay next to Tasuki the only sounds. A long moment passed, then another, then another. The word hung in the twilit heat between them. With a final shake of his head, Chichiri slipped into the early afternoon, pulling the door closed with a soft thud.

\- o - o - o -

He walked along an ancient brick-tiled path rambling across the vast estate. Groves of stately camptotheca trees spread a dappled shade across the gardens to either side of the walkway. At the base of a clump of slender white birches to his right, a handful of turtle doves strutted and picked about in the grass. Their placid cooing formed the bass line of the grand symphony of birdsong resounding from overhead. A warm, steady breeze ruffled his clothes and kesa, and set his ponytail swinging across his back. He could smell hints of incense in the air, with its scent of sandalwood mixed with the spicy musk of spikenard and the honeyed, grassy notes of saffron. Under the leafy canopy and with the wind embracing him, the temperature seemed almost balmy. It was a far cry from the scorching heat of the desert. He frowned. _The desert..._

Unbidden, Tasuki's drunken declaration echoed in his ears: _“I still love yah, Chiri. That ain't never changed, since th' day we met. I love yah, an' I want yah, with everythin' I got. An' I'm gonna keep on lovin' yah 'til th' day I die.”_ Chichiri ran his free hand through his now-dry bangs, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. No matter how hard he tried to banish Tasuki from his thoughts, it seemed, the brash redhead never strayed far from them. _Everything keeps coming back to him..._ Fragments of his dream stole unasked back into his mind's eye. His stomach fluttered as Tasuki's phantom hand tenderly caressed his cheek once more. Scowling at his own weakness, Chichiri shoved the thoughts and sensations away. How they felt about each other was irrelevant, especially in light of what they faced.

After their narrow escape from the illusory city, he, Mitsukake, Chiriko, and Tasuki had arrived to find Miaka and Tamahome fending off Suboshi. But, it was Amiboshi's presence there as well, unconscious but alive, that shocked him. The day of the failed summoning ceremony flashed through Chichiri's mind. After a frantic chase through Eiyou, Amiboshi had fallen into the rain-swollen canal not far from the palace, seemingly to his death.How had the boy survived the raging waters? _I saw him swept away myself..._ The monk's expression darkened. And to find his way to Sairou now, with the Seiryuu seeking the second Shinzahou, of all times? It seemed too convenient to be a coincidence.

Then there was the dead man he'd seen on the cliff with Miaka. Chichiri was certain that the man–Tomo, Tamahome had called him–was another of the Seiryuu Seven, most likely the sorcerer who'd created the trap in the desert. The Kutou soldiers they had encountered on the trade road several days earlier, and the three celestial warriors on the cliff at sunrise just that day: the Seiryuu were undoubtedly in the capital. Should they gain possession of the Shinzahou of Byakko, they would become nigh unstoppable. And, if the dragon-god was summoned, Kounan would fall to Kutou's armies. Tens of thousands would die, he had no doubt. He gripped the bronze mirror under his arm tighter, until the flowing scrollwork embossed into its reverse imprinted itself in his palm. He couldn't let that happen.

As he rounded a bend in the meandering path, the grove he'd been walking through became an open, grassy lawn. A section of the high, tile-roofed wall that ran the perimeter of the property cut through the gardens to his left. It ran parallel to the walkway like a sun-bleached backbone behind waving stands of vibrant green bamboo fronted by masses of delicate carmine spider lilies and contrasting sapphire-blue aconitum.

Ahead, the path forked. One leg of the brick walkway he followed continued on across the grounds, while the other disappeared under a rounded arch set into the wall. As he got closer, he could see a set of wide stone steps leading down the hill on which the estate sat. On the top step, her knees pulled up to her chest and her chin pillowed on her arms, Miaka stared off across the rooftops of the Sairou capital.

Chichiri came to a stop just a few steps behind the priestess. His soft shoes made nary a sound against the brick and she seemed completely oblivious to his presence. Readjusting his grip on the mirror, he opened his mouth only to be promptly cut off.

Letting out a frustrated growl, Miaka surged to her feet. She stomped her foot and threw her hands in the air. “And after he gave me such a good, deep kiss, too!!” Her shout startled songbirds flittering in the nearby trees. They took hasty flight to escape the noise. The monk gasped in surprise and she finally turned toward him. Embarrassment seized her features and a bright pink flush stained her cheeks. “Chi-Chi-Chichiri!” she stammered. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Oh, not long, no da.” Chichiri chuckled to himself as she stiffly smoothed her skirt before again taking a seat on the top stair. Raising an eyebrow, he cocked his head. “So, tell me: what's a ‘good, deep kiss’ anyway, no da?” As the last word left his mouth, the feeling of Tasuki's tongue sweeping over his own, their lips locked in passion snuck to the forefront of his mind. His breath caught in his throat and he coughed to clear it. Thankful his mask hid the blush on his true face, he shoved the thoughts away.

Miaka fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “Well, it's sorta...um...” She simpered, then shook her head. “Never mind that. Are you alright?”

“Oh, I'm doing much better now, no da.” Chichiri took a seat next to her on the stone step and glanced himself out across Sairou's residential and commercial districts. A rainbow of sweeping clay-tiled roofs filled the valley in which the capital sprawled. Just below them, colorful silken flags like those he'd seen in the desert illusion fluttered in the breeze from every balcony, awning, and storefront. Brilliant sunlight glinted off gold-trimmed gables and spires across the entire skyline. The chorus of people going about their day, of birdsong, and of the wind winding though the treetops lent the entire valley a sense of peace. His brows furrowed.

Brilliant sunlight caught the rim of the bronze mirror and Chichiri looked down. “Oh, yeah.” He held the item out to Miaka. “I want you to take a look at this, no da.”

Gingerly, she took the mirror from him and cradled it in both hands. Its smooth surface reflected her confused expression but nothing else. Cocking her head, she looked up at the monk. “Should I just keep looking into the mirror like this?”

Chichiri nodded. “The picture will come soon, no da.” Forming a mudra with both hands, he began to chant just under the edge of his breath. Suzaku's power built within him and his character mark glowed softly through his pant leg. The mirror's surface shivered. Miaka's reflection skewed and undulated before gradually clearing to reveal a surprised Hotohori.

“Miaka?” he asked, his eyes wide.

She gasped and thrust the mirror away, barely keeping a hold on it at arm's length. “Hotohori!”

Chichiri leaned around the bronze edge to see the young monarch. “Your Highness! I'm sorry for how late this report is, no da.”

“Do not trouble yourself over it,” Hotohori said, a faint yet genuine smile curving his lips. “You both seem in good health. What about the others? Is everyone alright?”

Miaka's brows furrowed and the ghost of a frown passed over her face before she caught herself. “Yeah, we're all exactly the same as we were.”

Hotohori nodded. “I am glad.” He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words. “Well then,” he said at last, “what about the Shinzahou?”

“I'm sorry. We had one in our hands, but Nakago stole it.” Miaka did frown then. Chichiri thought he saw a flicker of actual rage behind her eyes but he couldn't tell for certain. With a shake of her head, she continued. “But there's another one here in Sairou and we're going to do our best to find it.”

Hotohori shifted in his chair. A small furrow dug itself between his brows. “Miaka, take care of yourself and try not to put yourself into any danger. If anything goes wrong, you and Tamahome will never be able to be together. I want you and Tamahome to be happy, once we get the Shinzahou and summon Suzaku, and ensure the future of the Kounan Empire.” He folded his hands in his lap before he spoke again. “While I cannot be there at your side to defend you, I constantly pray for your safety and success.”

“Hotohori...”

“Well,” he said after a moment. “I do not want to keep you.” A faint smile touched his lips. “I am sure Tamahome is waiting.”

Miaka started, her eyes wide. She blinked, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. Clearing her throat, she simpered and nodded. “Uh, yeah. I should get back to him.” Pulling the mirror in closer, she held the monarch's gaze. “Be careful, Hotohori,” she said, “and thank you.” Miaka passed the heavy bronze object over to Chichiri and pushed herself to standing. Dusting off the back of her pleated skirt, she walked away back down the path Chichiri had taken just a few minutes before.

Brow raised, the monk watched her round a bend and disappear from sight. Hotohori continued and Chichiri returned his attention to the mirror.

“Miaka's unfailing concern for others is remarkable,” he said, the smile he'd worn since the priestess left taking on an air of both affection and sadness. “And her optimism and determination are heartening.”

Chichiri chuckled softly. “She could have more resolve than all of her warriors combined, no da.”

The emperor chuckled as well. “She may well, indeed.”

After both men's amusement subsided, Hotohori continued. “Sairou.” A note of surprise made its way into his voice. “I did not know that your journey would take you so far from Kounan, but I am thankful that you all made it there safely. Please,” he said, “tell me of what has happened since leaving Kounan.”

Taking a breath, Chichiri nodded. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said, dropping his silly tone, and made his report. He told Hotohori of Soi's attack and the near-sinking of their ship, of their arrival in Hokkan and Tomoru's village, of splitting up in Touran and the discovery of the shrine on Mount Koku, of the two Warriors of Genbu and the stealing of the Shinzahou by the Seiryuu, of their trek to Sairou and the illusory city, and of their reunion in the capital at the home of Tamahome's teacher and mentor. As he recounted each situation and event, he avoided speaking about Nuriko's fate. Whether Miaka didn't want to relive that pain herself or just wanted to spare Hotohori, she hadn't mentioned it and Chichiri decided that he wouldn't either. It was callous to keep the emperor in the dark, he knew, but necessary. They both had duties to Kounan and its people that he would not, could not, compromise. If he had to keep that information back to ensure their success, he would do it. There would be time to mourn after Suzaku had been summoned.

“I see,” Hotohori said as Chichiri ended his briefing. A brief beat of silence passed between them before the emperor spoke again. “What of the Seiryuu's search for the Shinzahou of Byakko?”

Chichiri frowned. “There's no question they're operating in Sairou. After the encounter with the cavalry unit on the road, the seishi Tomo's death, and Suboshi's subsequent flight with Amiboshi, I have no doubt there is a sizable Kutou presence here in Sairou. Yet, I've felt no other traces of Seiryuu life forces.” He let out a frustrated breath. “It seems likely that someone, maybe the last Seiryuu warrior we've yet to meet, or perhaps Nakago himself, could be shielding their strength and number from my powers. In either case, Your Highness,” he said with a shake of his head, his bangs bobbing with the motion, “we should assume the enemy will use any means necessary to prevent us from retrieving the Byakko Shinzahou.” The image of Nuriko's drawn, bloodless face flashed across his mind's eye and he tightened his grip on the edges of the bronze mirror.

“I see.” Hotohori nodded slowly as he mulled over the information. Chichiri could see plain the worry and concern that creased his brow and clouded his tawny eyes. “Please, be wary when dealing with the Kutou contingent. I fear that they have already taken the acquisition of the Genbu Shinzahou as an opportunity to further escalate the campaign against Kounan.”

“‘Escalate?’” A lance of ice made its way up Chichiri's spine at Hotohori's words. The brows on his mask furrowed, but thankfully betrayed nothing else of the expression on his true face.

“As you know,” Hotohori said, a pronounced frown on his lips, “Kutou has spent the last few months conducting raids on farming villages near the Kounan-Kutou border crossing in Jusou province.”

“I do. I met with several provincial governors, including Jusou's, while I sat in for Your Highness during the search for the remaining seishi.”

The emperor nodded. “Indeed. Just over a week ago, Kutou soldiers again crossed into Kounan, this time south of the main border gate. Two battalions from the Hou Kuang garrison were dispatched, but by the time of their arrival, another farming village had already been destroyed and the intruders fled. I am told very few survived.” His brows drew together and he glanced down and away for a long moment.

Chichiri's heart sank. _Yet more villages destroyed and lives needlessly lost..._ Brows drawing tight and a deep frown on his lips, he let out a long, low sigh.

With a slow shake of his head, Hotohori at last brought his gaze back up to meet Chichiri's. “My efforts to forestall Kutou's invasion have become increasingly fruitless over the last few weeks. And with this most recent of raids, the mood in Kounan has taken a turn for the worse. Ministers who had previously only asked for aid have begun preparing their own forces for battle.”

“So the nobles have lost patience with our mission,” the monk murmured, more to himself than Hotohori.

Shifting back in his chair, Hotohori continued. “I fear it is worse than lost patience. To redress what the provincial governors claim as gross negligence on the part of the crown, they have begun an effort to form their own military forces separate from those of the Kounan army.” He brought a hand to his brow and rubbed his forehead. “It is not that I do not understand their desire to protect the people from these unprovoked attacks. I understand it all too well, but we do not have the luxury of foolish action.” Hotohori sighed, a sound that carried a weight and weariness with which Chichiri fully sympathized. “Placing even a defensive force near the border could be seen as a provocation. If Kutou should take the troop movement as a pretense to invade, there would be little to stop them. The Kounan army measures only a fraction of Kutou's strength.”

“They've gone so far as to take matters into their own hands?” Concern took up residence between Chichiri's brows, and he shook his head. If the provinces had begun to take up arms, Miaka's quest to summon Suzaku no longer held the same sway at court as it had only a month earlier. At this rate, he thought, it was only a matter of time before all-out war was declared, with or without the Shinzahous.

“Yes.” Folding his hands in his lap, Hotohori's brow furrowed. “While the ministers agitating for a military response have given no indication of further dissatisfaction with the kingdom, other factions within the court have seized on the instability created by these events, perhaps bolstered by the open defiance.”

“Your Highness,” Chichiri began. The rest of his thought trailed away as he watched Hotohori's eyes narrow. In their tan depths, a hardness the monk hadn't seen there before replaced the fatigue and frustration of a mere moment prior. As the emperor continued, the lance of dread that had crept up his spine moments earlier became a slow yet ever-increasing icy drip that pooled in the pit of his stomach.

“Rumors of rebellion began to trickle out of Souun in the days after the attack and the provincial governors' declaration, but attempts to determine their veracity were unsuccessful. Ultimately, one of my father's concubines and a eunuch working in the harem and their forces attempted to seize the throne using my elder brother as their pawn.”

Chichiri's eyes went wide and a sharp gasp fell from his lips. _Treason?!_ For a moment, the only sounds he could hear were the pounding beats of his own heart. _An attempted coup?!_ Jumbled, panicky thoughts swirled in Chichiri's mind. How had this happened? Were Kutou or the Seiryuu involved? Could there be a second attempt? Hands sweaty and shaking, he fumbled with shock-numbed fingers to catch the mirror before it hit the stone step on which he sat. “Your Highness,” he blurted, “are you alright?!”

“I am fine, but my brother...” Hotohori let out an uneven breath. Myriad emotions clouded his eyes and he looked away.

_My fault..._ The familiar strains of guilt began to rise above the discord in his head. _It's my fault..._ If he had prevented the Genbu Shinzahou from falling into the enemy's hands, if he had prevented Nuriko from going alone to Mount Koku... And now Hotohori's only brother had been killed in the midst of a coup. _My fault..._ A long moment passed as Chichiri fought to swallow the great knot of remorse and self-loathing that had lodged itself in his throat. “I'm sorry,” he said finally, his words quiet and steeped with regret.

Hotohori shook his head. “No, do not apologize. The conspirators were captured and Kounan is safe for the time being.” He pursed his lips into a resolute line. “You must focus on retrieving both the Shinzahou of Byakko and the Shinzahou of Genbu. We can no longer force the voices calling for war into silence. Summoning Suzaku may be the only way to prevent Kutou's invasion now.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And do be careful yourselves. We do not know what the Seiryuu will attempt next to thwart your mission.”

Chichiri nodded, his gaze steely with determination. “We will, Your Highness. We **will** retrieve the Shinzahous and summon Suzaku. Kounan can't afford for us to fail.”

\- o - o - o -

Resting his forearms on the cool stone of the balustrade, Chichiri looked out over the estate's grounds. Mid-afternoon sunlight gilded the lawn that stretched out before him just steps from the veranda on which he stood. Bounding the grassy expanse, the groves of camptotheca he'd walked through that morning swayed. The trees' large, glossy leaves glimmered with refracted sunlight. High above, clumps of fluffy, fair-weather clouds wandered westward across an endless blue sky. His bangs fluttered in the breeze and he let out a deep sigh.

He'd told Hotohori they would summon Suzaku, but where could he even begin to look for the Shinzahou of Byakko, let alone the Shinzahou of Genbu? How could he keep his promise if he couldn't even locate the Seiryuu he knew were in the capital? He looked down at his hands. His powers were returning and he felt stronger than he had just after the illusory city disappeared. Still, he wasn't back to his full strength and he knew the others weren't either. Chichiri shook his head. The last time he'd chosen the expedient path at the expense of caution, Nuriko had been killed.

“I'm not sure about this.”

“Ah, come on. It'll be fine.”

Voices drew Chichiri's attention back to the courtyard and he looked up in time to see a nonplussed Chiriko trotting out into the open space near the guest quarters they had used earlier that day behind a grinning Tasuki. Tucked under the redhead's arm was a ball. A patchwork of worn, sepia-colored leather covered the item's surface. Chichiri's breath caught for a brief moment before it slipped out in an uneven sigh. His eyes lingered on Tasuki's confident swagger and the way the sun played in his hair as the two younger seishi made their way across the yard.

“Alright,” Tasuki said, placing the ball by his boots in the ankle-high grass. With practiced ease, he pulled the sash across his chest and the tessen it held over his head and dumped them on the ground with a muted clank. He unbuttoned and shrugged off his heavy leather coat until it, too, lay in a heap nearby. He ran a hand through his wind-tousled hair. A handful of strands fell into his eyes and back across his nose. “This,” he continued, scooping up the neglected sphere, “'s a cuju ball.”

Chiriko tucked his hands into the sleeves of his teal coat. Cocking his head, his topknot bobbed in the breeze. “Tasuki, I'm not sure that our hosts would appreciate us using their things without asking permission first.”

“Couple o' geezers like that? Trust me, they ain't usin' it. Don't worry 'bout it.”

Chichiri hadn't seen the redhead since he'd stolen out of that claustrophobic room that morning. Once more, thoughts of the dream and Tasuki's words crept into his mind: _“I just need yah t' trust_ _me.”_

The brows on his mask furrowed. _How can I trust you when I can't even trust myself?_

“Is that where that old thing got to?”

A soft, amused voice sounded to his left, startling him from his musing. Chichiri looked over to see the lady of the house. Her round face broke into a smile as she watched the two celestial warriors in the middle of the courtyard. “You and your companions seem to be doing better, I see.” She glanced up at Chichiri before turning back to Tasuki and Chiriko. “But, you shouldn't overdo it. You still need some more rest and a few good meals before you've recovered completely.”

“Thank you for allowing us to stay at your home, no da,” Chichiri said as he too turned his gaze back to the younger men. “We really appreciate it, na no da.”

“Of course.” With a delicate, wrinkled hand, she pushed a few locks of her long wavy hair back over her shoulder. Their snowy white color marked a stark contrast to the deep violet of the sleeveless dress she wore over a flaxen blouse and matching trousers. “You all were in such a dreadful condition when you came that we just couldn't let you leave without doing something. You'd get yourselves killed.”

Chichiri turned again to the old woman, but she kept her eyes on the courtyard. Since they had arrived at the estate after the ordeal in the desert, he'd felt a strange aura permeating everything around him. It was a warm feeling, as if a vast well of power slept beneath his feet, but standing next to the stooped old woman that nebulous energy sharpened to a distinct point. He blinked once, then twice. “You're a celestial warrior, no da.”

Finally turning to the monk, she chuckled. “You needn't look so surprised, young man.” Another smile crossed her lips as Chichiri belatedly realized he was gaping and shut his mouth with a click. “Like often recognizes like.”

The breeze played with the hem of Chichiri's kesa and he shifted on his feet. He was thankful that his mask hid most of the dumbfounderment on his true face. _A celestial warrior,_ he thought. The sheer fatefulness of their party ending up in the home of a seishi set his mind reeling. As the silence that had descended between them stretched on, both he and the old woman returned to their observation of the impromptu lesson.

In the courtyard, Tasuki continued. “Me an' th' guys used t' play cuju back home all th' time,” he said. He dropped the ball in a smooth arc to his knee. It hit the dove-gray linen of his pant leg with a solid thwack. The rebound reached the height of his head before falling once more toward his thigh. “Yah can't use yer hands though.” With a grace and fluidity of motion that Chichiri still marveled at, Tasuki easily kept the leather orb bouncing back and forth across his knees. The jade- and glass-beaded necklaces he wore clattered with each strike.

Chiriko watched the ball for a moment as Tasuki juggled it from leg to leg. Looking past the spectacle to the redhead, his lips adopted a wry bent as his brows furrowed. “I don't know about this...”

Seeing the scholar's concern, Tasuki caught the ball in mid-bounce and put it back under his arm. He sighed. “Ah, come on, Chiriko. Lighten up a little.” Shifting his weight to one leg, he cocked his head and frowned. The sun glinted off the fangs poking out at the corners of his lips. “We're s'posed ta be takin' it easy. Werk with me 'ere.” A few long moments passed and neither man spoke. When it became obvious that Chiriko wasn't going to go along with Tasuki's plan, he rolled his eyes and let out an overwrought sigh. “Fine. Yah win.” He pushed the strands of hair blown into his eyes away, only to have them fall back into his face once more. “I'll apologize ta th' ol' lady fer takin' 'er ball later. Happy now?”

Chiriko nodded, the unease in his face dissolving into a shy smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Blackmail. Fuckin' blackmail.” Tasuki scowled but couldn't keep up the irritated act for long. The incandescent grin that had been on his face when the two of them had walked out into the courtyard resurfaced, sweeping away his feigned displeasure. He reached out and ruffled Chiriko's sandy hair.

Without removing his attention from the courtyard, Chichiri spoke once more, his voice low. “Then you must know about our mission, na no da.”

The old woman nodded. “Your duty to Suzaku is the same as ours to Byakko long ago.”

“Byakko...” The word slipped from Chichiri's lips as the pieces came together. His brows shot toward his hairline. _A Warrior of Byakko..._ Whipping his head toward her, his heart skipped a beat.

“I am Subaru and my husband is Tokaki of the Byakko Seven.” She glanced up at the monk. “We have known Tamahome was a Suzaku Warrior for many years now. Then the rest of you appeared, along with Miaka, and it wasn't all that difficult to piece together. ”

He stared at her, eyes wide, as she confirmed his suspicions. Even as the knowledge that any members of the Byakko Shichiseishi were even still alive began to sink in, myriad thoughts swirled in his head. But, of all of them, only one sounded gong-like in his ears. “Do you know where the Shinzahou of Byakko is, no da?”

Subaru pursed her lips at the question, the wrinkles around the corners of her mouth deepening as she did so. Her brows furrowing, she again looked back out on the two younger seishi in the courtyard. “Don't push yourselves before you're ready. From what Tamahome has told us about your search, you shouldn't be so eager to put yourselves into danger. The Shinzahou is safe for the time being. Rest and regain your strength for now and we can take you to it tomorrow.”

Chichiri frowned. Some part of him wanted to move to secure the Byakko Shinzahou as soon as possible, but he knew she was ultimately right. Their contingent was weakened and tired from their ordeal, and ill-prepared to face the Seiryuu. Chichiri let out a soft sigh and returned his gaze to Tasuki. He would not make the same fatal mistake he had with Nuriko. They would stay with Subaru and Tokaki for another few days until they all were back to full strength and then they would set out as a group to find and recover the stolen Shinzahou of Genbu. _At least we now know the Shinzahou of Byakko is within reach,_ he thought. It was a small consolation after all they had been through. Still, it meant that, the challenges before them notwithstanding, their mission had a fighting chance, and he was going to take it.

In the courtyard, Tasuki had moved about three paces from Chiriko. He stood arms akimbo, his foot atop the ball where it sat nestled in the grass. “Since yah can't use yer hands, yah gotta use yer feet t' move th' ball back 'n forth.” Taking a half step back, he tapped the brown sphere with the toe of his boot. It made a soft swish as it rolled across the lawn. Stopping it with his left foot, he tapped it again, this time back toward his right. Again and again he passed it from foot to foot.

Chiriko followed the movement of the leather ball as he watched Tasuki dribble. A corner of his lips quirked as both interest and a deep doubt warred across his face. The teal silk of his coat fluttered about on the wind. Catching the hem of one billowing sleeve, he fidgeted with it as he spoke. “I don't know, Tasuki. I've spent my entire life studying to pass the haizi kaoshi. Scoring well on that battery of exams has always been my main focus. I've read nearly every text and tome to be found in the whole of Jouzen, but I've never participated in a sport before.”

Tasuki stopped the ball with his foot. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged, his earrings swinging at his jaw. “So what if yah ain't never played a sport 'fore? Big fuckin' deal. Just kick th' ball when I pass it to yah.”

The furrow between Chiriko's brows deepened as the glimmer of interest in his eyes dimmed at Tasuki's dismissal. His shoulders sagged as he looked away toward the treeline.

After a long moment, Tasuki sighed. Placing one hand on his hip, he scratched at the back of his head with the other. The movement ruffled the long vermilion strands and they shimmered in the sunlight. He watched the younger seishi scuff the toe of his soft shoe through the grass. “Look,” he said. “I know yer worryin' 'bout lookin' dumb an' all, but I don' care if yah ain't perfect or if yah can't play fer shit. Yah don't gotta be perfect with me.” He watched as Chiriko shifted his weight from foot to foot as if uncertain of his response. “Come on, Chiriko. Play with me?” Tasuki frowned, his fangs reappearing at the corners of his mouth. “Please?” As Chiriko gradually inclined his head toward him, a look of relief crept across Tasuki's face. “I'll let yah 'ave th' ball an' everythin'.”

Chiriko cocked his head and studied Tasuki out of the corner of his eye. After a long moment, a crooked simper made its way to his lips. “Okay,” he said at last, turning to face Tasuki once more. “I'll try, but please don't expect too much of me.”

Joy twinkling in his eyes, a brilliant smile broke over Tasuki's features. He pumped his fist in triumph. “Alright!” He gave the ball a short kick and it bounced its way over the grass to stop at Chiriko's feet. “Okay, so whatcha wanna do is try kickin' th' ball t' yerself like I was doin'. Don' worry if yah miss er it rolls away from yah. Just focus on keepin' it movin'.”

On the veranda, Subaru glanced up at Chichiri. A snowy eyebrow rose. The monk's expression had become quite a bit more serious since they returned to watching the two young men play cuju. Cocking her head a fraction, she watched him. Chichiri stared off into the courtyard, his eyes never moving from a single point. She turned and followed his gaze to its redheaded focus. Her brows furrowed. “Allowing your personal feelings to dictate your actions is a dangerous path to tread.”

Their minutes-long silence broken, the perpetual mirth on Chichiri's mask wavered for just a second as Subaru's words registered. Lips parted in surprise, he jerked his head toward her. His long bangs bobbed as he did so. The old woman stood watching him with a scrutinizing eye. The slight purse of her lips set him on edge.

“You shouldn't get so involved while your duty has yet to be done,” she said. Her voice carried the authority of years and experience, but it lacked the overt scolding tone Chichiri had expected. “I, too, was young once. Tokaki and I also met while we both served as celestial warriors. But, we were determined to keep our feelings separate from our duty to Byakko and the priestess.”

The looped braids of white hair atop Subaru's head wobbled as she looked back out at Tasuki and Chiriko. Exertion painted the scholar's cheeks as he struggled to keep up with the ball. The redhead grinned wide, calling encouragement with Chiriko's every step. “We knew that how we felt for each other was a potential liability to our mission. A situation where we would have had to choose between protecting the priestess and protecting each other could very well have doomed everything, including ourselves.”

Chichiri's own brow furrowed. He was thankful his mask managed to hide the turmoil he was certain dominated his true expression. What she said wasn't wrong; he'd been trying to convince himself to do just that since he'd realized how he felt about Tasuki. He'd even tried, at Tomoru's village, to make the redhead understand that their duty was more important than their desire for each other. But despite his efforts, their dance of rebuff and rejoin had only become more complex and more frequent.

Subaru looked back up at Chichiri, her gray eyes reflecting a sad sort of sympathy. “As a celestial warrior, no matter what your intentions, personal feelings can only produce divided loyalties. Serving the priestess and summoning the beast god must take priority. It may seem cruel, but you must leave your wants until after your duty has been completed. Only then can you act as you choose.”

Chichiri looked at her for a long while. Slowly, he nodded. The concern on Subaru's face gave way to a small, motherly smile. She placed a warm, dainty hand on the monk's arm. Giving it a squeeze, she adjusted her grip on the shallow woven basket she carried tucked under her other arm and walked away down the veranda. Chichiri watched her go until she disappeared around the corner of one of the compound's white-walled buildings. He could respect her intent, but nothing she had said was anything he hadn't already thought about countless times before. Silently, he looked back out on the courtyard. Still, maybe he needed to hear it from someone who had already faced such a situation. He frowned as he found his gaze following Tasuki almost instinctively.

Chiriko panted as he stopped the ball with a soft-soled shoe. Rosy-cheeked, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “That was more enjoyable than I first imagined it would be,” he puffed. He smiled as he worked to get his breathing back under control. “Thank you, Tasuki.”

“See? I told'ja yah'd do great.” Tasuki reached out and ruffled Chiriko's hair. He beamed down at the short blond boy with brotherly affection. “When we get back t' Kounan, I'll introduce yah t' th' guys an' we'll play a real game. 'Course yah still gotta lot t' learn,” he said, his grin slipping into the familiar cocky smirk he usually wore, “but, if yah get real good, yah can do this.” Levering the toe of his boot under the patchwork sphere, Tasuki lifted the ball into the air. It rose in a tight arc nearly as high as his head. Just as it reached its apex, he spun into a roundhouse and, with one long leg, launched the ball across the courtyard.

As Tasuki completed the pivot of his kick, Chichiri noted the distinct jolt that ran through the other seishi as he finally noticed him on the veranda. Their eyes locked. Time seemed to slow, as it had in his room the night they'd written the letter to Mount Reikaku and again in the belowdecks of the ship on which they'd sailed to Hokkan. The wind pulled at the redhead's clothes, revealing the contours of his muscular body beneath, and tossed his unruly mane across his nose. As Chichiri beheld Tasuki staring back at him, wreathed in golden sunlight, his heart hurt.

Perhaps fifteen paces from where Tasuki and Chiriko stood, the worn leather ball impacted the corner column of a veranda edging another of the estate's buildings with an ominous thwack.

“Oh! Look out!” Chiriko cried, his eyes as wide as saucers and focused at a point just over Tasuki's shoulder.

“Eh?” Wrenched from the moment, Tasuki raised an eyebrow at the horrified expression on the boy's face. “What're–” He turned his head to follow Chiriko's line of sight, and directly into the path of the ricocheting cuju ball. Whatever he had been about to say died in a deafening fleshy smack that reverberated off the nearby rooftops. The force of the impact hurtled him off his feet and slammed him to the ground in a flurry of fiery hair and bone-colored linen.

On the veranda, Chichiri winced.

The ball sailed into the treeline. “Tasuki!” Chiriko rushed to him, his small hands clutched together over his mouth. “Are you alright?!”

Laid out flat on his back in the grass, his necklaces draped haphazardly across his chin, Tasuki blinked owlishly up at the afternoon sky. The fluffy white clouds whirled in lazy circles on their way across the azure expanse. Twittering songbirds, alarmed by the noise and the errant ball, fled from the treetops in oscillating triplicate. His head lolled back and forth in a vain attempt to clear it. “'M'okay,” he slurred, “but could'ja make everythin' stop spinnin'?”

\- o - o - o -

The sounds of commerce engulfed him as Chichiri made his way through the busy market. Prayer flags strung from the tops of the buildings hemming the street fluttered in the late afternoon breeze. People bustled from overflowing stall to overflowing stall. Bronze censers decorated with hand-etched mandalas and embossed depictions of Byakko hung from the rafters of one of them. More bronzeware sat on low wooden tables out front. Chalice-like yak butter lamps, some lit, clustered with lotus-shaped offering bowls, hand-forged prayer wheels, and myriad devotional statues, including some of the tiger god himself.

The grassy scent of cut vegetation and the heady perfume of myriad flowers met Chichiri's nose. Just beyond the bronzeware stall, he noticed a young girl in a forest green sleeveless dress and royal blue blouse sitting cross-legged in the center of an ocean of cut flowers. She waved an oversized bouquet of bright orange chrysanthemums and rich carmine roses at the passersby all the while calling out to one and all in a high-pitched, singsong voice. Above her head, strings laden with dainty cobalt poppies, lilies with ruffled amethyst petals, huge, round peonies with blushing pink centers, as well as more chrysanthemums and roses of every color and shape hung from wooden pegs like a botanical curtain. He smiled at the sight of her, nearly lost in the riot of hues but for her dark braids, as he slipped past.

Continuing on through the throng, he edged around a large group listening to a trio of street performers singing and dancing to a lively folk tune. The rich, earthy sweetness of pipe smoke hung about the crowd and followed him down the street even after the sound of the music had faded away. He glanced down at the modest wooden box in his hands. A small oiled leather bag decorated with a colorful geometric pattern sat almost forlornly in the center of the felted interior. He hoped Tokaki would find the tobacco he'd chosen acceptable. Since he himself didn't smoke, he had no idea what the differences between cuts or curing methods were or what constituted a good variety. Fortunately, the shopkeeper he'd purchased from had been very patient and recommended a blend a good many of the city's smokers preferred. Now he had only Subaru's fruit left to buy.

After managing to convince Tamahome–with the solemn promise of repayment with interest–to lend him a few coins from his personal stash, Chichiri had taken it upon himself after dinner to venture out into the market to buy their hosts a few gifts. The elderly celestial warriors had gone out of their way to aid Miaka and their contingent and it was only right to acknowledge their help. And if they were to be brought to the Shinzahou of Byakko's resting place the next morning, there was precious little time left to thank the two of them properly before they began their search for the missing Genbu Shinzahou and, in turn, made their way back to Kounan.

_Kounan..._ Chichiri's perpetual smile fell to a grim line. Not only was it in danger from without, it was now in danger from within. Hotohori's revelation that parts of the imperial court were overtly moving against his authority shocked Chichiri to the core. He had seen no indication that the throne's power was disputed, let alone in such a precarious state. The disagreements between the ministers over the correct response to Kutou's aggression didn't seem anything but mere differences of opinion, even during the time he'd spent posing as the emperor. The constant raids had taken a toll on the country's sense of security, he knew, but to attempt a coup? While under direct threat by a foreign army that could take any sign of instability as an invitation to invade?

His brow furrowed. Hotohori had said that the conspirators had been dealt with, but with provincial governors now ignoring imperial purview to build their own military forces, was that truly the end of it? Supposing for a moment that Suzaku had been successfully summoned and Kutou repelled, could Kounan truly be considered “saved” if subversive elements still existed within the court? Chichiri let out a small sigh and shook his head. They hadn't even secured one Shinzahou yet; speculating about what would come after the summoning and the completion of their mission was premature at best. Securing the box under his arm, he put the thought aside and pressed on.

As he walked, rich golden sunlight draped a shimmering cloak over the entire city. It streamed down the narrow alleys off the main thoroughfare to puddle on the timeworn cobbles under the shoppers' feet. The tops of ancient cypress trees peeking up through the crush of buildings swayed in the breeze, wreathed in auric fire. High above, the gilded clouds drifted across the deep azure sky.

The items for sale at each stall gradually shifted from ritual and household necessities to local delicacies and ingredients. Baskets, boxes, crates, bags, and bins brimming with goods peeked out from every storefront for as far as Chichiri could see. Spices in deep ocher, sienna, and madder hues filled heaping hemp sacks crowding the entrance to one stall. A handful of women haggled with the stooped old proprietor in animated fashion, the gemstone beads in their intricately braided hair clattering together.

At another, the enticing aroma of browning meat drew quite a crowd. Behind a worn wooden counter, two plump, sweaty young men labored to keep up. One placed strips of what Chichiri imagined was yak meat into a hand-forged wok along with pungent onions, spicy peppers, and meaty broth, while the other dropped rolled, pale ivory buns into a bamboo steamer basket. Hungry shoppers shouted each other down as they clamored for a serving. The monk's stomach let out a plaintive growl as the scent of the stir-frying shaptra and steaming tingmos reached his nose. After the less than filling dinner he'd had, he was sorely tempted to buy himself a serving, but he decided against it.

Chichiri turned to continue down the thoroughfare when a flash of green caught his eye across the street from the shaptra stand. Shoppers buzzed about in front of another teeming shop. He craned his neck to see what was being sold, but the traffic streaming past obscured his view. The quick glimpses of earth- and jewel-tone colors piqued his curiosity. Perhaps it was the greengrocer for which he'd been searching. Carefully, he threaded his way toward it through the crush.

Fruits and vegetables of all kinds sat in heaps and bunches in front of the stall on a thick-legged wooden table. Behind it, even more produce spilled from countless willow baskets. Shiny yellow apples formed neat pyramids next to fat bundles of crisp green scallions. Stacks of bitter melons rose from a shallow sea of scarlet-hued goji berries like knobby, chartreuse islands. Thick swathes of mustard greens and dill hung like bunting off the edge of the table. Piles of juicy golden apricots and bright red-orange mandarins dueled for attention with crates of vivid burgundy pomegranates and fuzzy pink peaches. The sharp tang of pomelo and the delicate sweetness of ripe pears filled the air around the storefront. _Perfect,_ he thought.

Chichiri slipped into an open space next to two old women haggling with the vendor over their purchase. One woman, her graying hair parted into two equal braids to either side of her head, shook the bunch of bok choy she held at the flustered young man behind the counter to punctuate her every sentence. The other woman thrust a gnarled hand containing a few intricately embossed gold coins at the man, all the while picking up, squeezing, and putting back a succession of diminutive, bell-shaped kumquats with the other. He allowed a small chuckle at their antics as he took in the wares.

As he scanned the myriad fruits and vegetables, his lips took on a wry bent. What exactly should he get? He didn't know much about Sairou customs, and the last thing he wanted to do was insult their generous hosts. Glancing up and down the table for several minutes with no real ideas, Chichiri shook his head. He'd just have to hope that fruit considered auspicious in Kounan would also be considered so in Sairou. Taking a mandarin in his hand, he surveyed it for blemishes. Finding none, he gave the orange a quick squeeze to test its ripeness. The thin peel and the fruit inside gave easily. Satisfied, he placed it in the wooden box next to the tobacco pouch. A shopper next to Chichiri paid for his haul with a middle-aged woman also tending the stall and left, allowing access to another section of the produce stand. The monk sidled down the table to fill the vacancy in front of the heaps of apples and peaches. He picked out a large, firm apple the color of sunshine at daybreak and placed it too in the box.

_That just leaves a peach,_ he thought. Running his eyes over the fruits on offer, he spied a particularly fuzzy one near the top of the pile. A swirl of gold near its stem crowned the near-flawless dark salmon hue of the rest of the fruit. The hint of a true smile managed to assert itself on his mask. It would make a beautiful gift. Chichiri reached out for it, only for his hand to collide with another also making a grab for the same peach.

“Sorry. You can 'ave it.”

A deep tenor sounded close to Chichiri's ear and he started. Whipping his head to his left, his eyes widened. “Tasuki,” he breathed. The familiar fluttering in his stomach threatened to steal the air from his lungs as he found the redhead standing not a hand's breadth from him. Subaru's words rose from the chaotic threading of his pulse through his veins: _“As a celestial warrior, no matter what your intentions, personal feelings can only produce divided loyalties.” “Serving the priestess and summoning the beast god must take priority.”_ The old woman's warnings repeated again and again in his mind, as if the recitation of a sacred mantra.

“Chiri?” Tasuki's brows rose toward his hairline. He turned toward the owner of the voice and his heart skipped a beat. A thrill arced up the redhead's spine and a giddy smile seized his lips. Reflexively, he ran his eyes over the monk's lithe body.

Chichiri's brows furrowed. Now that Tasuki had noticed him, flight was the only option. Taking the contested peach, he placed it between the mandarin and apple in the box. He jammed a hand into an interior pocket in his tunic and fumbled for his money. The cluster of golden coins jangled as he fished for the correct amount. Pulling out three, he held them out to the shopkeeper. “Thank you, na no da,” he said as the woman took them with a nod. Using the press of people as a barrier, he ducked behind a newly arrived customer and strode off down the street.

Tasuki scowled, his fangs poking out at the corners of his mouth. Of course Chichiri would try to run from him. A low growl worked its way up from the depths of his chest. He grabbed another peach and plopped it on top of the pile already in his basket, tossed a handful of coins to the proprietor, and slipped through the throng in front of the produce stand and into the thoroughfare. A few paces ahead, he saw Chichiri's distinctive cerulean hair bobbing in the crowd. “'Ey, Chiri, wait up,” Tasuki called. He jogged after the monk, easily dodging around slower shoppers.

As the redhead closed the distance between them, Chichiri scowled. He cursed himself for underestimating Tasuki's tenacity and divine speed. With the younger seishi hot on his heels, he could see no good way to get out of the coming conversation short of using his own powers. He sighed and shook his head. _I guess I have no choice,_ he thought. Slowing his pace to allow Tasuki to fall into step, Chichiri attempted to keep his voice neutral. “What are you doing out here, no da?”

Tasuki didn't answer right away. Instead, he inclined his head toward the monk, scrutinizing him out of the corner of one almond-shaped eye. Chichiri's sudden seeming willingness to talk after trying only moments before to lose him in the market put Tasuki on guard. They hadn't been on the best of terms–since they'd arrived in Hokkan, let alone Sairou–and the battle of wills outside that abandoned monastery nearly a week earlier hadn't helped matters. There was still so much tension lingering between them, even after the ordeal in that illusory city had blunted the keenest edge of it. The corner of his mouth quirked, revealing a pearly fang. _'E just tried t' ditch me, fer fuck's sake..._ Still, on the off chance that this could be Chichiri's attempt at extending an olive branch, he had to seize the opportunity. He had no choice. Letting out a small sigh, Tasuki held up the basket of peaches in front of him so the monk could see it before tucking it back under his arm. “Chiriko said I should get somethin' fer Miaka t' say sorry fer hurtin' 'er feelin's at dinner.”

Chichiri nodded, his long bangs bobbing in the breeze. “I see, no da.”

The sounds of the market around them filled the void as the fledgling conversation stalled. Shadows thrown by the surrounding buildings and woven fabric awnings above many of the shops crept after the tide of sunshine ebbing by degrees down the stone-tiled street. The puffy bottoms of the clouds floating overhead grew ever more yellowy with each passing minute. Chichiri glanced over at Tasuki, watching him for a moment before returning his attention to the way ahead. The redhead's dogged determination to engage him, even after everything that had happened between them, was impressive, he had to give him that. The monk had never encountered anyone as persistent. _Or as obstinate,_ he thought with a tiny smile. Unbidden, Subaru's words rang through his mind once more: _“Allowing your personal feelings to dictate your actions is a dangerous path to tread.”_ The brows of his mask furrowed for just a moment before the item's magic returned it to its usual mirth. He knew the woman was right, but what was he supposed to do? Limiting contact with each other was difficult as they still had a mission to complete. And, deep down, he missed the easy conversation and warm companionship Tasuki offered so readily. With a minute shake of his head, he took a deep breath and let it out in a slow, resigned exhale. He would probably end up regretting this. “That really was some terrible food, no da.”

Tasuki threw his head back and belted out a laugh that made his guts hurt and drew stares from passersby. “Holy crap, it was awful!” he roared. “How th' hell c'n she eat so damn much an' then cook so damn bad?!” He laughed again, this time more subdued. Glancing over at Chichiri, a brilliant fanged grin spread across his face from ear to ear. The monk had decided to actually talk this time instead of continuing to avoid him. He didn't know why and it might be only a small gesture, but it was something and he'd take it. “Yah know who I feel bad for, though? Tama. If 'e's got **that** t' look forwerd to fer th' rest o' his life, I don' envy 'im one bit.”

Chichiri chuckled. “I hope Mitsukake managed to make something for his stomach, no da. After eating all that, he's going to need it, na no da.”

“Damn straight,” Tasuki said, laughing once more as he remembered the sickened, green-tinged expression on Tamahome's face as he choked down every bit of Miaka's disgusting meal. “An' what's with Mitsukake an' Chiriko, eh?” His amusement fading, he looked back over at Chichiri. “Both o' 'em runnin' t' grab th' seats next t' Tama so we gotta share a bench?” It was so obvious that Mitsukake and Chiriko had forced him and Chichiri to sit together on purpose. After they'd taken their seats, both the healer and the scholar had feigned interest in the geometric patterns adorning the tablecloth, but watched him and Chichiri like hawks when they thought no one was looking. It had made Tasuki laugh just how bad they were at being sneaky, and there was no way the monk hadn't noticed the strange behavior. Returning his gaze to the street, Tasuki's wide smile shrunk to a wistful curving of his lips. Of course, whether their effort mattered in the long run, he had no idea.

Stealing a glance at the younger man, Chichiri's brows furrowed beneath the cheery façade of his mask. “It **was** odd, no da,” he said, in as noncommittal a tone as he could muster. He didn't want to pursue this line of thought, and he surely didn't want Tasuki to pursue it. He knew exactly what Mitsukake and Chiriko were trying to do, with the dinner seating and most likely with forcing him and Tasuki to share a horse in the desert. _They probably engineered the sleeping arrangements this morning so that I would be next to him then as well._ Letting out a small sigh, he let the topic and the conversation drop.

The two seishi continued on in silence. Even as the sun sank slowly toward the spiny peaks of the western mountain ranges, the market brimmed with activity. Yak butter lamps in the backs of stalls flickered to life, banishing the shadows left by the receding sunlight and casting a cozy yellow glow on the merchandise displayed at the front. The quavering calls of kites soaring overhead added a shrill overtone to the hum and bustle. A refreshing cool breeze swept down the thoroughfare, spreading the delicious aroma of grilling meats, simmering broths, and baking breads from food stands all along the street. Small knots of shoppers milled around the shops' counters, talking and laughing as they ate and smoked.

The wind blew a few strands of hair into Tasuki's eyes and across his nose. Shifting his grip on the basket under his arm, he ran his free hand through his unruly mane. The offending locks fell back into his face the moment he released them. Glancing once more at Chichiri, he ran his eyes over the monk's profile. The sky-blue tassels hanging from the string of prayer beads around his slender neck danced against his chest. At his slim waist, the unmoored hem of his kesa flapped lazily in the breeze. His long blue ponytail swung across his back, periodically caressing his shoulders like a lover. Tasuki frowned and returned his attention to his path. The soft grunt of frustration that bubbled from the back of his throat trailed into an almost-inaudible sigh. _If I wanna keep talkin', I guess I gotta do it myself_. “So,” he said, trying to keep his voice upbeat, “whad'd **you** get?” He flashed Chichiri a crooked smile. “Peaches, obviously.”

At the sound of Tasuki's voice, Chichiri turned to look at him. “Oh.” Taking the box housing his purchases from under his arm, he gazed down into it for a moment before looking back up at the redhead. “Just a few gifts, no da.” Resettling the item back under his arm, he looked away down the market street. “Tobacco for Tokaki and some fruit for Subaru. To thank them for helping us, na no da.”

Tasuki hummed thoughtfully, and he too set his eyes forward. “C'n yah believe those two geezers 're celestial warriors like us? What're th' chances, eh?”

“It **is** pretty lucky, no da.”

Tasuki glanced at Chichiri. “An' that they've got th' Shinzahou o' Byakko?” A skeptical expression on his face, he shook his head before looking away again. “Kinda hard t' swallow, 'specially after what happened with th' Shinzahou o' Genbu.” He couldn't keep the hard edge out of his voice as the words passed his lips. In Hokkan, they'd had to search for clues and information about the Shinzahou's whereabouts themselves. Fanning out across the city, each scrap of hearsay or ancient legend the lot of them had been able to acquire seemed like a victory after starting off with nothing whatsoever. Then that frantic ride to the mountain, only to find Nuriko dead by Seiryuu hands. Tasuki bit back a growl and clenched his fist until his arm shook. And after burying the courtier in a tomb of rock and snow, they'd had to prove their worth to some long-dead seishi or be killed. Now, they'd miraculously ended up being taken in by just the people they were looking for, and come the morning, they were set to have the Shinzahou of Byakko handed to them on a silver platter. He sneered, his fangs glinting. It wasn't fair, to Nuriko or to the rest of them.

Hearing the raw emotion Tasuki tried to contain, Chichiri turned to the redhead. The perpetual smile on his mask dwindled to a mere line as he watched Tasuki grapple with his feelings. Anger suffused his entire being, giving his stride a rigid, fierce quality. It set his broad shoulders and twisted his handsome face into a vicious snarl. But, just below the roiling surface, Chichiri could feel the heavy aura of loss and sadness radiating from him. The slight bow of his head that curtained his eyes with fiery hair did little to hide the deep sorrow clouding their usually gleaming depths. His brows furrowing, the monk returned his attention to the road ahead. Every failure in the search for the Genbu Shinzahou was a result of his decisions. Watching everyone, Tasuki included, break atop Mount Koku after Nuriko's death, and knowing **he** had been the one that caused it... Chichiri took a deep breath and let it out in a long, quiet exhale. “How's your head, no da?” he asked, redirecting the conversation. “You took quite a hit from that ball earlier, na no da.”

Tasuki turned his gaze back to Chichiri. The subject change wasn't unanticipated, but the shift in the monk's demeanor did catch him off-guard. It had been a long time since the older man had allowed such a candid expression in front of him, mask or no. Whether Chichiri meant for him to see what Tasuki was sure had to be the older seishi's true feelings he didn't know, but the surprise of it shook him from his angry musing. Releasing his fist, he flexed it a few times to stretch the abused muscles. The crescent-shaped indentations Tasuki had left in his palm ached as feeling flowed back into his hand. He look away once more. “'S alright.” A lopsided smile tugged at his lips and he turned back, his voice a soft rumble. “I've 'ad worse.”

Chichiri looked over, meeting Tasuki's eyes. Visions of the mission to Kutou and Tasuki, bloodied and bruised, coursed through his mind: squaring off against a drugged Tamahome in his and Miaka's defense; enduring a savage and unrelenting beating at the hands of their ally; choking on that makeshift garrote as he fought to save them from certain death. As they held each other's gaze, other images insinuated themselves into Chichiri's mental narrative: the look of unabashed devotion in Tasuki's uninjured eye as he stared up from his lap, the younger man's bandaged, nearly naked body sprawled before him, the warm hand on his wrist and its gentle touch. Chichiri's heart ached under the weight of Tasuki's ingenuous scrutiny. _“_ _You shouldn't get so involved while your duty has yet to be done.”_ Subaru's warning rose specter-like from the depths of his mind. _“_ _It may seem cruel, but you must leave your wants until after your duty has been completed. Only then can you act as you choose.”_ Brows furrowing once more, Chichiri purposely looked away, breaking the spell. “I know, no da,” he murmured.

As the two of them walked along, the white-plastered buildings and crowded stalls of the market district gradually gave way to treed park areas lining the banks of the wide, placid river meandering through the heart of the city. People sat talking on low benches lining the stone-paved street while others enjoyed the afternoon on the grass beneath the spreading arms of ancient maples and poplars. Raised beds of chrysanthemums, thick with white, red, and gold flowers, fronted by much smaller gentians dotted with tiny cobalt blooms, echoed the bright colors of the prayer flags that fluttered above nearly every street in the city. Scintillating dapples of sunlight flittered across the time-worn thoroughfare with the wind-tousled leaves, tracing shifting patches of light and shadow on its ancient surface.

A loud, piteous gurgle punctured the silence that had grown between the two warriors. Tasuki instinctively put a hand over his stomach to squelch it. Their dinner just hadn't been enough, it seemed. He took a soft, salmon pink peach off the top of the pile in his basket and brought it to his lips. The smell alone elicited another more insistent growl. With relish, he sunk his teeth into the ripe flesh. Sweet juice welled from the pulp left by the bite, running over his fingers and down his chin. He leaned forward, attempting to keep the sticky syrup off his coat's leather lapels. Swiping his tongue over his lips and what he could reach of his chin, Tasuki cocked his head. He glanced down at the half-eaten peach. “Oh, hey,” he said, looking over at Chichiri. He held the fruit out to the monk. “Yah hungry?”

Chichiri raised an eyebrow and eyed the chunk missing from the peach before turning his attention to Tasuki. “Those are supposed to be an apology to Miaka, na no da.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Tasuki smirked. Chichiri hadn't actually said no, despite the look of skepticism on his face. He waggled the fruit at him. “Ah, come on. Yah gotta be hungry. Miaka ain't gonna miss one with a basket full.” As he watched the monk's struggle play out between his brows, Tasuki chuckled. “An' she kinda owes us fer that horrible food anyway.”

Chichiri gave the smug redhead a wry look. It was true they hadn't had much of a dinner left after Tamahome took all of Miaka's spoiled dishes for himself. The other girl who'd helped cook, Xi-Fang, had only made a handful of items, probably in anticipation of Miaka's effort, and there just wasn't enough to fill his, Tasuki's, Chiriko's, and Mitsukake's bellies. Xi-Fang had apologized profusely after it became obvious dinner was going to be a spartan affair, but they couldn't in good conscience ask one of their hosts to make more food. He glanced down at the peach in Tasuki's hand. Where the redhead had taken his bite, the creamy white flesh blushed a deep maroon around the craggy pit. Drops of juice caught in the fruit's fuzz sparkled in the patches of sunlight filtering through the trees. The sweet, delicious aroma wafted to his nose, making his mouth water. A long, loud growl issued from his stomach and he flushed beneath his mask. He let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah, alright, no da.” Chichiri took the peach from Tasuki's hand, their fingertips brushing lightly as he did so.

Tasuki's smirk softened into an expression of pure affection as he watched the monk nibble at the edges of the bite he'd made. Turning his eyes back to the road ahead, he licked the drying syrup off his fingers.

Around them, the peaceful afternoon began to give way to early evening. To the east, the azure of the sky slowly retreated from the coming indigo of night. Overhead, the undersides of the clouds took on a coppery tone. With each step, the sights and sounds of the citizenry dwindled as they left the market and its outskirts behind and traveled farther into the less populated, more natural areas closer to Subaru and Tokaki's estate. Groves of russet-barked cypress peppered with the odd clump of white-trunked birch rose to either side of the street, adding their own textures and colors to the landscape. At the river's edge, graceful herons waded in the marshy waters as they hunted for their own meals. The melodic croaking of frogs accompanied the whistling and twittering of thrushes and rosefinches unseen in the trees.

Tasuki watched a few turtle doves poking around in the sparse grasses and scattered rocks between the roots of a venerable maple. The tree cover swayed with the caprices of the wind, occasionally forcing a heretofore hidden songbird to find a new perch in the canopy. As the breeze stirred the branches, the ever-present mountain ranges surrounding the city were revealed and obscured by turns. He breathed deep the scent of clean air, fresh water, and moist earth. “'S nice 'ere, ain't it? Th' mountains an' th' trees kinda remind me o' home,” he said, a wistfulness in his voice. He glanced over at Chichiri. “Yah ever been there b'fore? Mount Reikaku?”

Wiping a few stray drops of juice at the corner of mouth with the back of a knuckle, Chichiri shook his head. “I've passed through Souun on a few occasions, but I've never spent much time in western Kounan, no da.”

“Well, it's got way more trees fer starters,” Tasuki said, a nostalgia-tinged smile spreading across his face. He looked off into the distance down the nearly empty street. Images of the dense forest cloaking the mountain filled his mind: of how the morning mists closed in on the trees until it seemed as if the bandit stronghold was the only thing that existed in the world; of the crystal-clear spring and ancient, moss-covered shrine to the mountain god he and Kouji had found in a secluded glade deep in the woods; of the whirring of the cicadas and the droning of the katydids in the spring and summer, and of the musty, earthy scent of leaf mold and the sweet, ashy smell of wood smoke in the autumn and winter. Realizing he had let the conversation lag, he turned again to Chichiri. “An' it's just me an' th' guys livin' up there, so there's no big city like this.” Tasuki swept his free arm in an arc to encompass the whole of the Sairou capital. “Just a few buildin's. An' we gotta go inta Souun t' get supplies an' stuff since there's no market either...” As he trailed off, his lips quirked and a fang poked out. Small, unremarkable details that he'd never paid attention to in his life floated to the fore: that one wooden water bucket in the kitchen that always leaked, no matter how much pine resin they tried to patch it with; the bronze hinges on the door to the barracks that made a horrible scraping noise whenever anyone tried to push it beyond about half-way open; the three broken clay tiles on the roof of the stronghold's main building that little pine seedlings tried to grow from every spring; the uneven grooves worn by thousands of feet before his in the wide stone stairs leading to the compound that had been cut from the side of the mountain itself. A twinge of longing ran through him. He missed it so much, more than he'd thought possible. “So,” his voice was a soft rumble, “it's really nothin' like this.”

Chichiri turned to Tasuki, his mask revealing the sympathy on his true face. He could hear the sadness and homesickness in the redhead's voice and he knew how keenly those feelings could cut, given the opportunity. “It sounds nice, no da,” he said, trying to keep his own silly voice upbeat.

Tasuki gave Chichiri a heartfelt smile. “It is.” He watched the monk return the smile and look away once more. Despite his attempts otherwise, Chichiri couldn't pretend he didn't care. Tasuki's gaze lingered on the older seishi's lips as he finished off the last few bites of the peach. The longing for home he felt was quickly supplanted by a distinct ache of need for the man next to him. Returning his own focus to the way ahead, he slipped his free hand into the pocket of his coat. His fingers brushed the cool metal edge of the coin charm and he took it in his palm. “I'll hafta take yah there sometime.”

Tasuki's quiet, fraught words brought a frown to Chichiri's lips even as they made his heart ache. For a long moment, he studied him from the corner of his eye. Even if he could take Tasuki up on his offer, would either of them even live long enough to summon Suzaku, let alone to see Mount Reikaku, or Kounan for that matter, again? Brows furrowing, he looked away and let out a small sigh. He tossed the now-bare peach pit into the undergrowth to the side of the street and once again let the conversation drop.

The road made a gentle curve west, away from the river, and began to climb. With each step they took, the jagged peaks of the western mountain ranges emerged like row upon row of pointed, dull brown teeth from the tree-covered valley floor. And just beyond the tallest snow-capped summits lay the unforgiving desert that encompassed nearly half the country. Heat rising from the sun-blasted sands cast a shimmering veil over the entire horizon, smearing the emeralds of the foliage, the ivories of the scattered buildings, the golds of the sunlight and rooftops, and the sepias of the mountains together into a blurry kaleidoscope.

Birdsong and the thud of Tasuki's boot heels against the ancient stone filled the silence between them. He turned the bronze charm over and over in his hand. He'd thought many times of giving it to Chichiri since he bought it during Qi Xi, but every time he'd actually tried, his attempts had been stymied. Even with all the pain, anger, and rejection that had festered between them in the weeks since he'd purchased the charm, none of the desire he felt for Chichiri had waned. If anything, it had become stronger, deeper, and more intense. And the monk's presence not an arm's length from him–willingly, he reminded himself–didn't help.

Chichiri squinted through the evening sun at the mountains li distant as they continued their trek back to the Byakko seishis' home. Across the nearest mountainside, an extensive temple monastery with stark white walls and yellow-glazed roof tiles sprawled like a vast, gold-flecked avalanche frozen in mid-tumble. Nearly a hundred pagodas and towers rose like stair steps around a central u-shaped building dominating its center. Strings of ragged prayer flags fluttered from some of the lower roofs. He'd visited many temples during his last visit to Sairou, but the one dominating the skyline before them was the largest he'd seen by far. With a complex so large, he thought, thousands of monks must live and train there.

Tracing the constellation of Chichiri that rose from the coin's obverse with his thumb, Tasuki inclined his head toward the monk and let his gaze wander over him. Sunlight shone on his long bangs, short cropped hair, and ponytail, a gilded counterpoint to the silvery moonlight Tasuki had seen there the night they'd met. The muscles in Chichiri's bare forearm flexed as he adjusted his grip on the box he held, reminding Tasuki of the strength the monk used to push him down on the deck of the boat to Hokkan. The redhead's mind immediately began supplying the explicit details of that night: the invading tongue and the taste of Chichiri's mouth on his, the monk's exploring hand and its scorching, passionate touch, the scent of sandalwood and sweat and something uniquely Chichiri, the lascivious moans and heaving breaths that had fallen from the older man's lips. Tasuki's cock stirred as his blood began to heat in his veins, and he looked away. He growled softly. _Dammit._ How much longer would he let Chichiri get away with insisting they were merely allies, bound by duty? How much longer could he force himself to sit on these feelings and do nothing?

As Chichiri took in the temple and studied its layout as they walked, the pleasant hum of birds and insects that surrounded them yielded to a bass rumble that seemed to fill the entire valley. Faint at first, but growing louder with each step, the noise was bolstered by the cacophonous clanging of metal on metal and the blaring of horns. Countless voices rose in a haunting, guttural drone, repeating the same few syllables again and again and adding yet another layer to the discord. He'd heard a similar dissonance during morning and evening prayer at many of the smaller monasteries and temples he'd stayed at in his wanderings, but there was something wrong about this sound. An ominous energy pervaded each note and its familiarity sent a chill down Chichiri's spine. _The monastery..._

It was the same feeling he'd had at the ransacked monastery that he, Tasuki, Mitsukake, and Chiriko had escaped through into the desert. It had lingered in the air of that broken place and clung to the smashed statuary, ruined murals, and burned books. He'd been wary of it at the time, but it had had nothing of the insidiousness it had now. It rode the crest of the music as it washed over the city like an oily sheen. Filling every nook and forgotten back street, the sinister feeling swirled about him, probing the strength of his chi. It set every hair on his body on end.

As they arrived outside of Subaru and Tokaki's estate, Tasuki cocked his head and made a face. “What's with that **noise**?” he asked, more to himself than to Chichiri. The cacophony ringing throughout the city grated on his nerves. The two of them stopped at the base of the wide stone stairs up to the compound's main entrance. He left the coin in his pocket and shaded his eyes with his hand. “'S it comin' from up there?” Looking up at the temple, he studied the building and its attendant structures. Even with his divinely enhanced vision, he couldn't make out a single person on the long path up to the place or through any of the myriad windows or in any of the small courtyards he spied. The only things that moved at all were the prayer flags in the wind and fleeting shadows that seemed to disappear when he tried to look at them directly. His nose wrinkled. Glancing at Chichiri, Tasuki's eyes widened. The monk looked absolutely unnerved. He stared at the temple with such intensity Tasuki could only follow his line of sight. Turning his head, he looked at it once more. Nothing he could see had changed. There were no other signs of life beside the sounds coming from it. Bringing his focus back to Chichiri, he dropped his hand and frowned. “Yah alright? Somethin' wrong?”

“What?” Startled by Tasuki's voice, Chichiri gave a sharp shake of his head. He glanced at the younger man. Tasuki's concerned expression told him immediately that the look of apprehension on his true face had bled through his mask.

With one last bass blast, the cacophonous music stopped. Reverberating through the valley off of buildings and mountains alike, its raucous echo bounded and rebounded across the city in steadily fading peals, until it too disappeared. The birds blithely resumed their songs. The strange power that had flowed through the sound had vanished as well, as if it had never been.

The invasive testing of his defenses ceased along with the noise. Its sudden end, as well as its presence in the capital at all, concerned him. Would that unsettling energy and whatever had produced it eventually turn its attention to Miaka and their mission to find the Shinzahous? Chichiri took a calming breath and schooled the magical item's expression back to its usual mirthful smile. He turned his full attention to Tasuki. “I'm fine, no da.”

Tasuki's eyes narrowed. “Yah said th' same thing this mornin' after that nightmare yah 'ad.” He watched Chichiri's masked visage for a long time, but it betrayed none of the emotion he'd seen just a moment before. “Yah sure?”

The mention of the dream brought it vividly back to his mind's eye. _“Suffer and_ _know that you will never be free of me_ _...”_ Chichiri felt the demons inside him clawing at his flesh. He swallowed hard at the vestigial grip of skeletal hands on his throat. Hikou's hideous, dead-eyed sneer haunted him and would for the rest of his life. But, under the weight of that searching amber gaze, a quiet tenor whispered through the chaos in his head: _“Yah got everythin' o' me.” “Everythin'.” “I just need yah t' trust me.”_ His heart constricted in his chest. Even if he wanted to leave his past behind, he would never be able to escape from it. Subaru's words rang in his ears anew: _“...how we felt for each other was a potential liability to our mission. A situation where we would have had to choose between protecting the priestess and protecting each other could very well have doomed everything, including ourselves...”_ Their sacred duty was just too important to allow himself to take the hand proffered him. Tasuki and everything the younger seishi represented–who Chichiri had been, who he could become, an end to the cycle of guilt, regret, and self-loathing, and ultimately, freedom itself–would forever remain out of his reach. “It's fine, no da,” he lied, letting his mask smile for him. He started up the steps, his soft-soled shoes making but a whisper against the stone. “It's nothing, na no da.”

A scowl settled between Tasuki's brows. He watched the monk ascend the stairs, his ponytail and bangs fluttering in the breeze. It was the exact response Chichiri had given that morning before his unceremonious retreat from the room. Tasuki frowned, his fangs peeking from the corners of his mouth. It seemed that no matter what he did, the wall of distance stood just as solidly as it had that night in Hokkan, when Chichiri had slammed his shakujou down between them. Frustration squirmed in his chest like a living thing and he let a soft growl rumble from his throat. He took a half-step forward. “Chiri.”

Chichiri paused mid-stride at Tasuki's call. Turning, he looked back over his shoulder.

Tasuki met Chichiri's eyes and held them with a tight and unrelenting grip. They faced each other, saying nothing, for a long time, until the sinking of the sun stretched their shadows into spindly columns. He gazed in earnest up at the monk a handful of steps above him as if a supplicant on his knees. “In that fake city...” he said finally, his deep tenor voice clear and firm. “I meant ev'ry word.”

The only outward indication that Chichiri had heard him was a subtle furrowing of his brow. Without a word, the older man continued up the stairs and disappeared through the bronze-clad gates, leaving Tasuki at the bottom of the steps, alone.

\- o - o - o -

“'Ey, Miaakaa!” Tasuki called as he wandered down the veranda. He scanned the grassy courtyard in the center of the estate. _Nothin'..._ Quirking his lips, he continued on, his gait unhurried. The thud of his boots echoed off the façades of the buildings around him. He tried again. “Loooook! I got some peaches for yah!” Holding up the basket in both hands, he paused to listen for a response. Only the birds and the breeze answered. His brows drew together. _I hope she ain't still mad at me..._ Tucking the peaches back under his arm, he cupped a hand to his mouth. “It's a peace offerin'. Let's eat 'em t'gether!” His words rang across the compound but there was no reply. Turning to look out at the courtyard once more, he scrutinized the shaded groves near the back of the property. Still, there was no trace of Miaka. _Where th' fuck_ _ **is**_ _she?_

Tasuki continued on, coming to a small sitting area tucked into the corner between the building Subaru and Tokaki lived in and the building they'd eaten dinner in earlier. Several carved stone benches lined the perimeter of the open area. Thin screens of emerald, lance-leafed bamboo swayed in front of the white-plastered wall ringing the estate that made up two sides of the secluded nook. On one of the benches sat Tamahome, staring off into the distance at the mountain ranges beyond the compound. Tasuki stopped and cocked his head. “'Ey, Tama. Where's Miaka? 'Ave yah seen 'er?”

Tamahome didn't turn to look at Tasuki at all. “Miaka,” he said, a note of resignation in his voice, “went off to that tower up there.”

Tasuki raised an eyebrow. Following the fighter's line of sight, he found himself looking once again at the temple dominating the mountainside at the edge of the city. An image of the rattled expression on Chichiri's face when they'd returned from their trip to the market flashed through his mind. “She went t' th' tower? Yah mean, she just took off an' went up there all by 'erself?” The same strange feeling he got earlier while listening to the discordant music returned. “Why'd she do somethin' like that?” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone. Returning his attention to Tamahome, Tasuki watched him just sit as if it didn't bother him Miaka was gone. It reminded him of the insults the fighter had hurled at dinner that sent the girl running from the room. He scowled. “Whad'd you **do**?” he demanded. “Yah've been actin' **real** strange again.” Even if Tamahome had ended up eating all of Miaka's food after that, it didn't excuse his callousness then or now. He growled deep in his throat and bared his fangs. “Why th' fuck 're yah sittin' there bein' all mopey?!”

“She went to the tower? That little idiot!”

Tasuki turned to find Tokaki striding toward him on the portico perpendicular to his own, his lined face twisted in both fear and outrage. The scent of tobacco smoke followed in his wake. “There are all sorts of monsters wandering around near that temple!” Coming to a stop next to Tasuki, Tokaki fixed Tamahome with a disapproving scowl. “It's forbidden to enter the tower now, anyway. Why in the world would she go there?”

“I...” Tasuki looked over as Subaru and a shaken Xi-Fang walked up. The old woman's brows were drawn and she sported a frown, but she said nothing. Xi-Fang covered her mouth, her indigo eyes wide with worry. “I told her about the legend of the tower. But,” she said, wringing her hands in front of her, “I told her to stay away from it, too!” Subaru patted her arm.

Tamahome rose from the bench. He shook his head. Tasuki could see the concern that should have been on his face all along finally manifest. “That idiot!” The fighter moved to head back down the veranda Tasuki had traveled just a few moments before.

“Wait, Tamahome!” Tokaki shouted. The older warrior's voice carried an authority even Tasuki felt hesitant to disobey. Tamahome got three paces before he froze in mid-stride like a trained dog. “You mustn't go there. I'll go, and Fang-Boy can come with me.”

Tasuki's lips quirked and he shot the man a sidelong glare. _“'Fang-Boy?'”_

Shaking his head, Tamahome didn't turn to look at Tokaki. His shoulders tensed beneath his ebony tunic. “Master... I think I...” His voice was soft, almost conciliatory. Tasuki's brows furrowed. He had never heard the other man use that tone before, not even when Nuriko had died.

Tokaki grimaced. “Do I have to explain it to you again?!” he bellowed. His words rang off the buildings and carried across the courtyard. Taking a step toward the still-static Tamahome, the old man shook his head. The large hoop earrings he wore bounced against the sides of his neck. “You and that girl are not going to stay together! You'll split up. Or, be forced to split up.”

_"'Split up?'”_ Tasuki blinked a few times in confusion.

“You were going to wish that she become part of our world when Suzaku is summoned. That absolutely won't work! It's the one wish the beast god **will not grant**! When the beast god appears, the priestess' purpose is fulfilled. Then, she must return to her own world. That is the rule. It is unequivocal. No matter how hard you both may fight it, you cannot change that. This love will end tragically!”

Tasuki's brow furrowed. No one had ever mentioned something like that before. _Wait..._ Eyes widening, Chichiri's words from their fight that night in Hokkan played through his mind: “ _After we retrieve the Shinzahou and summon Suzaku, our duty will be done and I will be gone. We won't see each other again.”_ Tasuki felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. He whipped his gaze to Tamahome's back. He knew just how much the fighter loved Miaka, because it was how much he loved Chichiri. And he knew just how Tamahome was feeling with such an ultimatum before him. The mere thought of having to give up on Chichiri after they finished their duty to summon Suzaku stabbed at his heart. If the monk really did disappear like he said he would, Tasuki had no idea how he'd keep going. He frowned deeply enough to show his fangs. _Tama..._

“It sounds romantic, doesn't it?” Tokaki's expression shifted from anger to worry to concern and then to a sort of bitterness. He clenched his fist at his side. Behind him, Subaru looked away, her own face reflecting a sorrowful pity. “However, in reality, it is torture. It will tear you both apart!” he railed. He took another step toward Tamahome, an almost pleading note in his deep voice. His snowy eyebrows drew together. “Stop loving her now, before it's too late or–”

“Please, Master.” Tamahome's quiet words cut the old seishi off. Turning just enough to look back over his shoulder, he gave both Subaru and Tokaki a tiny smile. “It already is too late.”

“Tamahome!” Tokaki shouted as the fighter took off down the veranda.

Tasuki's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Ever since he'd joined Miaka as one of her warriors, he'd heard plenty about duty. That old sand witch, Taiitsukun, harped on it every time she came to bother them or chew them out for screwing up. Nuriko had used it to justify discarding his dream to become empress and his decision to give up on being with Hotohori. Chichiri had used it as an excuse to pretend nothing was going on between them and again as a reason to reject him in the most forceful way possible. Mitsukake had told him in Touran after the details of his rejection came to light to wait to pursue the monk until after they'd finished their mission. And, not five minutes after he'd returned from the market, Subaru had cornered him to lecture about focusing on his duty instead of his desires. With so many voices telling him “duty this” and “duty that,” even he had started to buy into the idea, at least a little. Yet, Tamahome, also of the Suzaku Shichiseishi and having the same sacred charge as the lot of them, just flat out dismissed Tokaki's exhortations in deference to his love for Miaka.

As he watched Tamahome disappear around the bend in the portico, his face hardened into an expression of resolve. If the other seishi could reject the notion that duty and love had to be kept separate, that one could not exist in the presence of the other, then so could he. He wasn't going to tiptoe around anymore. He'd wasted enough time already.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms for Chapter 11
> 
> **Rosefinch** → (Carpodacus pulcherrimus) Himalayan Beautiful Rosefinch; small songbird with rosy head and breast; found throughout the Himalayan region, including Nepal, Tibet, and Bhutan  
>  **Camptotheca** → (Camptotheca acuminata) also Happy Tree, Tree of Life, Tree of Joy, Cancer Tree, and Xi Shu; medium-sized deciduous tree native to eastern Tibet and southern China; has some use in Traditional Chinese Medicine, but more important in Western medicine due to cancer- and HIV-inhibiting compounds in its seeds and bark  
>  **Spikenard** → (Nardostachys jatamansi) also muskroot; herbaceous flowering plant with pink, bell-shaped flowers; used for incense, perfumes, and herbal medicines; found in eastern Himalayan region, mainly northern India, Nepal, and Bhutan  
>  **Turtle Dove** → (Streptopelia orientalis) Oriental Turtle Dove, or Rufous Turtle Dove; known for black-and-white-striped patches on neck; widely distributed through Asia, including India, Japan, China including Tibet, and parts of Russia  
>  **Spider Lily** → (Lycoris radiata) Red Spider Lily, or Hurricane Lily; flowering perennial native to Tibet and Nepal; its irregularly shaped flowers are arranged in umbels (short flower stalks meeting at a central point) and curve backwards with long stamens  
>  **Aconitum** → (Aconitum gymnandrum) an herbaceous flowering plant native to Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau area of China  
>  **Cuju** → also tsu'chu; ancient game played by kicking a ball through a hole in a net; began as military exercise in Zhou dynasty (2nd and 3rd centuries BCE) before becoming popular with all classes by Song dynasty (mid-10th to late 13th centuries CE); despite different rules, cited by FIFA as earliest form of soccer for which there is evidence  
>  **Haizi Kaoshi** → entry-level Chinese civil service exam, in three parts: Xian Kaoshi ("county exam"), Fufu Kaoshi ("prefectural exam"), and Yuanshi ("college exam"); passing all three allowed one to take higher level exams, eventually attaining a government post and higher social class  
>  **Prayer Wheel** → also mani wheel; Tibetan Buddhist devotional item made of a metal cylinder mounted on a metal shaft in wooden or metal handle; strips of Buddhist mantras placed inside; spinning cylinder said to create positive energy, allowing practitioner to accumulate wisdom and merit  
>  **Cypress** → (Cupressus gigantea) Tibetan Cypress, or Tsangpo Cypress; coniferous evergreen tree native only to the valleys surrounding the Yarlung Tsangpo river and tributaries in southeastern Tibet  
>  **Madder** → deep reddish-purple color; the pigment has been used for centuries in Eurasia and northern Africa as natural colorant in paints, glazes, and dyes  
>  **Shaptra** → Tibetan dish of stir-fried meat, traditionally yak, beef, mutton, or goat, in thin, spicy gravy  
>  **Tingmo** → Tibetan steamed yeast bread; can be filled with a variety of meats and vegetables; most often eaten plain with other spicier dishes  
>  **Auspicious Fruit** → fruit with special significance in Chinese culture; often given as gifts on holidays and other occasions; these include apples (peace), oranges (good luck and prosperity), and peaches (long life and immortality)  
>  **Kite** → (Milvus migrans) Black Kite; bird of prey with dark brown plumage; opportunistic hunter and scavenger; native to temperate and tropical Eurasia and Oceania  
>  **Gentian** → (Gentiana tianshanica) Tian-shan Gentian; herbaceous perennial flowering plant with blue flowers; native to Himalayan region  
>  **Heron** → (Ardea cinerea) Grey Heron; wading bird with gray plumage, white head, and black stripe from eye to crest; native to temperate regions of Eurasia, and parts of Africa  
>  **Frog** → (Nanorana parkeri) High Himalaya Frog, or Parker's Slow Frog; a grayish-green frog in high-altitude grasslands, forests, marshes, and rivers in Tibet and Nepal  
>  **Thrush** → (Turdus kessleri) White-backed Thrush, or Kessler's Thrush; medium-sized songbird with black head, white shoulders, and rusty orange belly; native to temperate western China, northern India, Bhutan, and Nepal  
>  **Dungchen** → long horn, made in sections and traditionally of brass and silver; used in Tibetan Buddhist ritual for preludes, processions, and calls to prayer; similar to Australian digeridoo  
>  **Silnyen** → cymbal-like percussion instrument with small or no central boss; struck with horizontal movement and used in Tibetan Buddhist rituals  
>  **Gyaling** → double-reeded horn made of hardwood with copper or brass bell, similar to an oboe, used in Tibetan Buddhism to accompany chanting and prayer


End file.
